


Loving Longest

by Sindefara



Series: Loving Longest [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Character Death Fix, Fix-It, Mpreg, Multi, Sauron is amused, Sauron is not amused
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-09 20:50:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 33
Words: 126,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12284190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sindefara/pseuds/Sindefara
Summary: After the fall of Gondolin the events take an unexpected turn when Sauron discovers that Finwë was murdered by a member of his own family...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> If someone wants to be a beta reader, or just point out an error, you are very welcome :)
> 
> This story was already published in Russian as (surprisingly) "Loving Longest" in two parts:  
> Part 1: https://ficbook.net/readfic/3987743  
> (chapters 1-13)  
> Part 2 (the ending): https://ficbook.net/readfic/4060696  
> (chapters 14 - Epilogue)  
> Chapter 15 (the Interlude) serves an introduction to the rest of the fic: in the end of Chapter 15 I've added a Synopsis of Chapters 1-14. If you don't like the non-con / mpreg part, you may start with this chapter.  
> Loving Longest is a part of a series but this is a quite independent story so it is not quite necessary to be familiar with previous parts ("The Physician" and "How did he find out") to read this one.  
> 

_All the privilege I claim… (it is not a very enviable one; you need not covet it), is that of loving longest, when existence or when hope is gone._  
Jane Austen, Persuasion

Year 405, First Age, the harbor of Eglarest in Falas, Beleriand, Middle-earth

Círdan the Shipwright, the lord of Falas, looked at the sea.  
The sun was soaring over the golden waves.  
In the golden halo of sunset a ship appeared. At first, it seemed black, then it turned - and it became apparent that it was actually white. A white ship of Teleri Elves.  
A white ship from Valinor. A ship that did not came to the shores of Middle-earth for more than three hundred years.  
The ship was approaching. Other Elves came to Círdan. They looked at the deck, where sailors were bustling about. Necklaces and golden hair of the young Teleri mariners glittered in the evening sun.  
A few blonde, almost white heads of Vanya Elves seemed pink and sometimes turned black in the sharp shadows.  
The ship approached closer and closer. The captain, a golden-haired, nice-looking young Teleri, was ordering his men about, preparing to disembark. Probably, for him the horror that happened four hundred years ago – the Kinslaying of his relatives at Alqualondë - was not a terrible and living memory.  
A woman stood on the bow of the ship. The sun was right behind her; she was dressed in a long cloak with a hood. Neither her features nor her hair was visible.  
Perhaps, some desperate woman persuaded a Teleri relative to bring her to the long-lost family of Exiles, of murderers in Beleriand; she could no longer live without her husband or beloved, without a son, brother or father.   
So thought those who stood with Círdan on the sand.  
But the young Elf captain was unfamiliar with the shores of Falas.  
The ship turned awkwardly, heading for the harbor, and its port side was next to a sharp black rock, sticking out of the water. Those who stood on the shore, exhaled in fear; someone turned to Círdan; someone shouted, asking the captain to wait for a local pilot to come to the ship. The Teleri seemed completely at a loss and rushed to the other side of his ship.  
At that moment, the woman came to the very prow of the ship, to the snow-white swan head. In the crystal eyes of the lifeless bird, there was a pink gleam of sunset.  
She leaned on the swan's neck, and ...

_Blood. Mud._  
_This piece of cloth._  
_Memory._  
_My daily recollection._  
_My reminder._  
_It was a strange, rainy day._  
_There were two of us at home. Only two of us._

... The woman jumped upside down - right on the rock. Blood splashed on white boards of the ship. The golden-haired Teleri screamed terribly, rushed to the board. His sailors grabbed his hands and prevented him from jumping after her. He did not have time to realize what had happened.  
Círdan himself rushed into the cold waves, but even his body could not do anything in a split second.  
The woman's head cleaved asunder; the top of her skull together with two heavy braids, braided high, fell away. The woman plunged into golden-pink waves easily and quickly, leaving a dark spot of blood on the surface.

_Everything is over._  
_I will not come again._  
_I must not be reborn._  
_Here, on the shores of Middle-earth, I will not respond to Namo's call._  
_I will not see anyone else._  
_I will never see anyone again._  
_Farewell._

\- No! - Círdan yelled. - No! No! Do not ... do not! What have you done?! Oh no, may it not be you! .. - Tears rolled down his cheeks.  
\- What it was? Why she did it? - someone groaned behind him.  
\- Why? - Círdan screamed. – But why?  
The Teleri youth rushed at the board, stretching out his hands to the shore; he was trying to explain something.  
Only a few words were heard:  
\- ... I was asked ... her family ... she told me she was... I could not ... I did not know that she was going to...  
\- Go away! Go away! - Círdan still stood waist-deep in the sea waves. - Leave! Get out of here! Get out of here! Do not dare come here! Sail back, do you hear me? Leave!..  
The golden-haired captain howled something; the ship turned away from the cliff. A wave rolled on, and a piece of a skull with long braids disappeared under water. Ship stood still for a few minutes, then the oarsmen took up the oars and it took a sharp turn - a turn to the West, coming up with the Sun that already touched the Sea.  
\- Did you ... did you know her? – someone asked Círdan. – Do you know who she was? Whom we should tell about this?  
\- Yes, - he answered. – I know and I will tell him she is no more. I have to.  
\- Do not ... - someone said in a trembling voice; perhaps, it was Círdan’s friend Arminas. – It’s not necessary. It's so ... so ...  
\- We all deserve the truth, - said Círdan, turning away from the Sea and the ship. - Someday I will find out the truth, too, and those who are to blame for this, will regret. They will very much regret it.

  



	2. Other people's belongings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeglin does not want to get Idril any more. Instead, he comes with a sinister idea and asks Sauron to help him to resurrect his father.

“Finally, someone cares for me", Maeglin thought.  
Now everything seemed so logical. So right.  
Maeglin looked out of the window. He was told that now those chambers would be his and that he could return here at any moment. Here, in this dark, quiet rooms, he felt himself master of the situation. Not like in his own mansion in Gondolin.  
Especially because very soon the mansion and Gondolin itself will be no more.  
Sauron stood on the bridge, his long red hair waving in the wind, and it seemed to Maeglin that it was not the wind that touched it, no. There was a strange feeling that his hair resisted the air. Sauron’s copper locks seemed to probe the wind, gradually getting to the true essence of the eternal enemy and rival - Manwë.  
Sauron was so reliable. He and his aides - two Elves and an Easterling man - now seemed to Maeglin to be very special; he wanted to be a part of their circle.

***

The gloomy Avari Elf, named Nathron, was tall and dark-haired, with furry frowning brows. Maeglin was not very good at filigree, mounting of jewels and other works that required attention to small details, and subtle patterns never impressed him. However, when he saw Natron's dress closer, for the first time Maeglin became envious of such exquisite work. The light blue fabric was covered with embroidered dark blue patterns. It was not eye-catching, but in fact, amazing – an entire night forest with deer, birds, and stars; the embroidery included painted shells, feathers and pearls, sewed on. When asked by Maeglin, Natron responded coldly that everything that he was wearing was made by his own hands.  
The second, who, Maeglin was told, was called Gwathren, and to whom he had not yet been introduced, on the contrary, was quite short, fair-haired, in appearance - a Sinda. Long, heavy, shiny, sandy curls were fixed with a silver comb. His delicate, doll-like face could be charmingly attractive, if not for his eyes, - large, pearly gray, they gilttered with a kind of ghastly glassy luster. Maeglin saw Sauron taking him aside. Gwathren went to the railing of the bridge, twisting a heavy wooden staff in his hands; Sauron was speaking to Gwatren for a long time. Gwathren shook his head; Sauron clenched his fist and began to speak, as Maeglin thought, more quietly (his lips did not move much), but apparently he managed to convince Gwathren. A horse was given to a fair-haired Elf, and he rode away, accompanied by the third assistant.  
The third was a Man. His name was Andvir; he was a distant relative of the Easterling leader Ulfang. Andvir was reserved, rational, and not prone to drunkenness; that is why he got along well with the two Elves. However, Andvir was very greedy: treasures and wealth thrilled him - as well as gambling. For Gwathren and Nathron, one of his main positive qualities was that he was not interested in love affairs. Both Elves knew that some of their brethren, even though they themselves were not, of course, depraved (the nature of the Eldar did not allow it) found some perverse pleasure in listening to the obscene conversations of Men. It was said that some of the Eldar lords consciously surrounded themselves with retainers who told all kinds of lewd stories; Celegorm was especially often mentioned in this connection, but recently such rumors began to circulate about Maedros as well.

***

\- I wanted to ask you ... - Andvir turned to Gwathren.  
\- Later, - he replied. - And let's travel there separately.  
\- As you wish, - Andvir shrugged.  
The Girdle of Melian was no longer there, Mablung and other guardians of Doriath were dead, but Gwathren felt that in some places - among the trees, in small ponds under the canopy of rocks there was still something left of it, and this something was acting on him... weird. That is why he preferred to cross Doriath’s borders alone.  
“What an odd and disgusting errand”, - Gwathren thought.  
Disgusting.  
At least he did not have to bring THIS to Sauron. It pleased him: he did not want to take it in his hands.  
Odd.  
Nevertheless, since he was ordered to reduce the number of victims among the attackers, he would do it.  
He aimed and his arrow pierced an eye of a fair-haired Sinda, who drew back his arm to strike Maedhros with a huge axe. Another arrow entered the back of the head of a dark-haired Man who threw forward his hand with a sword, - and the sword barely touched Celegorm's back.  
Celegorm jumped over the railings of the bridge across Esgalduin, ran along the shore and disappeared in the forest.  
Gwathren followed him.  
Celegorm was easy to follow: on the skirt and sleeves of his mail there were wide strips of large, heavy gold links-rings.  
He will tell Sauron in detail about this, and he will fell a great pleasure in telling what happens next.

***

Perhaps, this small abandoned cottage looked safe for the runaways. However, Celegorm managed to trace, looking from the window of Melian’s bedroom (it had a small window that looked on the river), which way they went.  
Сelegorm's hands were shaking. He threw a Sinda woman, the nurse of the young princess, into the corner of the room. Little Elwing stood before him, trembling all over, but she was looking at him intrepidly. The light of the Stone strangely altered the features of Fëanor's son: the silver and mauve reflections of Telperion made his face tender and childlike, like a young man’s, a man who never held arms in his hands; the golden gleam of Laurelin painted his cheeks with a battle fury and made his gray eyes glow red.  
\- This is the stone of my grandmother Luthien, - Elwing said firmly. - Give it back to me, please.  
\- What do you know, - Celegorm almost whispered. – What do you know, you, a Man’s brood.  
Celegorm stretched Nauglamir, as if trying to break the necklace, but the links of the dwarven chain did not break.  
\- What can you understand? - He repeated, leaning over and putting the necklace around the girl's neck. - Well, here it is, wear it!  
Celegorm twisted the necklace around Elwing's neck and began to strangle her.  
This lasted only a few seconds, but when Celegorm, surprised, dropped the necklace, Elwing fell to the floor; she crawled away. On her neck were some deep cuts and in some places her skin was torn; horrified, the girl felt her neck with bloodied fingers.  
\- That’s a big no-no, you bad guy, let go of the little girl, - came a ringing, indifferent voice.  
In the doorway stood a fair-haired Elf in silver-embroidered black robes; he leaned on a black wooden staff. His empty eyes stared at Celegorm.  
\- Give the girl this thing back, Celegorm, - Gwathren continued.  
Celegorm drew his sword and immediately felt a wide Easterling knife on his ribs. The Elf turned fiercely, not paying attention to how the knife was slashing his skin, cutting him to the bone and grabbed Andvir by the hair, but then he felt a blow on the back of his head, dealt with a horrific strength. Celegorm collapsed to the floor, felt Gwathren's boots beating him on the waist; a sharp heel tore the fabric of his tunic. Then the frail-looking Elf once again had beaten him into the floor with a heavy blow on the back; Celegorm coughed, choking with blood.  
\- What a nuisance you are, - said Gwathren. - Isn’t he annoying?  
\- He _is_ a nuisance, - agreed Andvir. – Why do you bother this child?  
\- Let me go, - exclaimed Celegorm; He tried to wriggle out, reach for the necklace, but Gwathren's boot and staff pressed him to the floor. It seemed to him that his spine was about to break. Andvir crouched, almost lay down on the floor and pressed the blade of the knife to Celegorm's throat.  
\- Give it back to me! Give it back! - Celegorm yelled. - Who are you? I gave the Oath to return it ... I swore ... I waited ... hundreds of years ...  
\- What are you saying? What prevented you from coming to the gates of Angband and challenging Melkor to a duel? What did you wait for, Celegorm? For a woman to run for you in Angband? Was it you who tried to intercept her on the road, so that she and Beren did not take the Stone from Melkor? What an interesting way to keep your Oath, Celegorm!  
Gwathren tapped the heel of his boot on the back of his enemy.  
\- Who are you? - Celegorm asked.  
\- We are good people who save little girls from evil Elves, - said Andvir. – Such were the instructions from our master.  
\- Our master does not want this thing to fall into the wrong hands, - Gwathren added.  
\- Yes, why does he hate _us_ so much! - exclaimed Celegorm.  
\- Who needs _you_ , - Gwathren said with contempt. He leaned over and Celegorm felt the long sharp fingernails sliding between the curls of his long hair, scratching his head. - Perhaps, you are not even the son of Fëanor. Look at yourself, you mongrel.  
Celegorm took a deep, desperate sigh; a soft snow was quietly falling outside the window. He suddenly felt desperate, felt the pain of all the wounds received today, felt his blood soak into the floorboards; he shivered. The loud and contemptuous voice of the fair-haired Elf pierced his brain.  
\- I ... I ... I'm a son of Fëanor! - He exclaimed in a tearful, hysterical voice, not knowing why he was justifying himself before the servants of the Dark One. - Finwë also had wavy hair, and my grandmother Miriël was silvery blond! That’s why my hair is fair and curly! This was explained to me by the Loremasters in Gondolin, - he finished in a very small voice.  
\- Just look at him, - Gwathren said, striking Celegorm’s back the last time with his steel heel, - Fair and curly! Those Gondolin Loremasters must be indeed very learned.  
\- It’s not for long, - Andvir snorted.  
\- Let's go with us, girl, - said Gwathren, turning to Elwing.  
\- No! I will not go! - she exclaimed.  
\- My dear, - Gwatren replied, - if the one who owns a Silmaril has to choose between the servants of Sauron and the sons of Fëanor, I would choose the former. We'll follow you, at least until Brethil, and Andvir can go further, because he is an Easterling and will be able to provide you and your party with a safe passage. We will not bother you.  
\- Must I finish him off? - asked Andvir, pointing to Celegorm.  
\- We do not have such an order, - Gwatren replied.

With the end of his staff, he struck Celegorm hard on the temple; he did not lose consciousness immediately, but felt that he was unable to stand up any more. Celegorm heard the soft screeching of their shoes on the snow.  
Gwathren went up to the big gray horse at the hitching post; he took the saddlebags and searched them. Andvir approached, laughing, and asked:  
\- It seems that we were not asked to take other people's things either, huh?  
\- It's not his belongings, - Gwatren shook his head, - because the horse, as we saw, is not his. Nothing interesting. Although…  
He lifted the saddle; under it was sewn a small leather pouch.  
\- I wonder what's in there, - Gwathren said, tearing off the pouch and putting it in his pocket.

***

If Gwathren appreciated the Noldor scientists of Gondolin and their knowledge of the Elvish heredity, the opinion of Natron (and Sauron) of the Gondolin scholars after the conversation with Maeglin fell very low.

Maeglin stroked the joints of his hands, which were still aching, despite the painkillers that Sauron had given him.  
\- I'll have to lie to Uncle Turgon. To tell him that I fell from a rock…  
He always lied to his uncle, without knowing why, even about some trifles. Just lied. Now this skill was useful.  
Nathron filled his cup from a dark blue bottle.  
Maeglin drank and coughed slightly; the drink tasted sharply of alcohol, but it smelled good.  
\- Well, you see, everything is just fine, - said Gortaur, summing up, - you will get your cousin in your full possession and you will finally have a family.  
\- She has a child already, - Maeglin said. He drank more wine.  
\- The child ... well, maybe his father will take him to where he came from. Or let Ulmo take him, - Sauron laughed, - since he sent his father to Gondolin.  
\- You do not understand, - Maeglin answered.  
He looked at his reflection in the blue bottle; his own ghostly, iridescent shape reminded him of his father, Ëol. Nathron took the bottle from him and poured more. Maeglin sipped his wine and continued:  
\- You did not understand. She now has this child. She gave birth to him, you know. He was in her womb. Now nothing can be done about it. Nothing. A child by this ... Man.  
\- She will bring you others, - said Gortaur, and even patted Maeglin's hand affectionately (to Nathron's great surprise). - Of course, she will gladly give birth to other children. The children of your own.  
\- Would you eat food that fell on the ground? You do not pick bread from the mud, - Maeglin said.  
\- You will, if you are starved to death, - said Nathron dryly.  
\- I do not need this, - Maeglin answered. - I am not ... starving any more. I will not take dirt in my mouth. Now she has this dirt inside. She and ... her vagina, and everything inside her is marred after she gave birth to this ... this ... If she gives birth to my children, they too will be smeared in this filth, do you understand?  
\- What kind of filth, my dear Maeglin? – Sauron shrugged his shoulders. - A baby is born, a child's place comes out, then the umbilical cord is cut - and that’s all, the woman’s womb is free and empty, she can give birth to anyone’s child again. A woman is just a kind of a sack: you put something in and take something out - that's it.  
Maeglin pressed his goblet to his lips, inhaling spirits with an admixture of honey and something metallic.  
\- No, you do not tell me. - His voice sounded dull, - if she gave birth to him, then his traces ... his dirty seed remains inside forever, and if she gives birth to my children, they'll look like him, don't you know that?  
Sauron leaned back in his chair and looked attentively at Maeglin.  
\- What an utter nonsense! Was this what you were taught at the University of Gondolin? - he finally answered. - Did this Loremaster, what his name again, Pengolod, tell you this? Does he - besides all this pile of rubbish about mind-reading, - write such wonders about the women’s bodies?  
\- It does not have anything to do with Pengolod, - said Maeglin, - it's simply obvious.  
\- I'm sorry, dear Maeglin, that our meeting happened so late, - said Sauron, - otherwise I could help you to win your cousin’s affection, and you would have gotten an innocent girl.  
\- An innocent girl ... - Maeglin sighed, and laughed, - yes ... if I were innocent, I would also get a mate... you know what my father said? .. Well, he hinted at something...  
\- Of course not, I did not have the luck to know your father, - Sauron replied. He sincerely regretted this, given Ëol’s age and experience.  
\- F-finwë ... he did not just become a king ... because he was an envoy to the Valar ... It was M-m-míriel... she gave... well, you understand ... she offered... something to someone.  
Maeglin poured the remaining wine past the goblet.  
\- What are you talking about? - Nathron chuckled ironically.  
\- They say that Finwë and Míriel got married in Valinor, - Sauron said.  
\- Well, Finwë promised to marry her here, - Maeglin waved his hand. – He did not know what she had done to became his queen... Women, they are all like that. They say they will do everything for you, and than someone else gets everything...  
He his his face in his hands.  
\- Oh, Lómion, - Sauron sighed, - although our acquaintance turned out to be so dramatic, I'm your sincere friend. Indeed, I would do everything for you. I will make anyone give to you something that you want. Whom do you want? After all, I can see that you still want someone, dear Lómion.  
\- I ... - Maeglin looked up. In his dark eyes, there seemed to be no trace of intoxication. - I need my father. I want him back. I want him to be reborn. Valar promised this. Is this really only for those who were born in Valinor? I want my father to come back. I thought she - Idril - would give birth to him ... redeem her father's guilt ... and then my mother will be born again, too... we will live together as a family ... but now this ... this ... - he choked, gasping for breath, and smashed his fist down on the table. - Now it's impossible ... they're all whores ... I want them to be had. I want to conceive my father! To conceive my father in an innocent, pure bosom ... help me, I know you can!.. I heard rumors that you can ...  
\- How can I ensure that your father will be reincarnated as a child of your ... mmm ... union?  
\- You can command souls, - Maeglin grabbed Gortaur by the embroidered sleeve of his scarlet robe; tears dripped from the dark long eyelashes of the Elf. - I know my Father's here. I know that he did not go there ... to Aman, to these Halls or whatever ... please ... I'll take you to where his body is... Please, talk to him. I want him to come back! You will do this for me!

***

\- Now I understand why you gave Gwathren another assignment, - Nathron said when Maeglin left.  
\- Yes, Gwathren is not very fond of my ... mmm ... laboratories, - Sauron replied. - And what is the pleasure of listening to this drunken gibberish?  
\- Gorthaur, the thing he asked for... is it even possible?  
Sauron shrugged.  
\- Indeed, it sounds like nonsense. Maybe I can do some of this, but I'm not sure that I can do it all together. But I think, - he smiled, - this is not necessary. In any case, I will try to summon Ëol’s spirit, this is the simplest thing. Moreover, since, as you know, this must be done at the place where he died, at the same time I will become acquainted with the location of this place.

  



	3. The bets are placed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Necromancer is actually necromancing in this one:)
> 
>   
> 

  


On the high wall of Gondolin Sauron saw two tall figures of Elves against the background of a rosy evening sky. One was dressed in a blue cloak, the other in an orange-gold one, but from here below, it was hard to say whether the cloak indeed was golden, or the shimmering fabric reflected the rays of the setting sun.  
\- Is Turgon the one on the right? - Sauron whispered.  
\- No, the one in a golded cloak is Lord Penlod; he is as tall as my uncle is. He is the head of the House of the Pillar and the House of the Tower of Snow, - Maeglin replied.  
\- Two Houses? Did he have to replace someone? – Sauron asked.  
\- Well, yes: his nephew Pengolod is officially the head of the House of the Pillar, but he is a famous Loremaster: he buried himself in legends and chronicles, and therefore Penlod is actually the lord of both Houses. There were two brothers - Penlod and Pengolod; Pengolod, as far as I know, was a pupil of Fëanor. They both arrived with Fëanor in his ships to Losgar. Pengolod the Elder was killed in Dagor Aglareb. Penlod came over to Turgon and brought with him his young nephew, who was also called Pengolod and was born here, in Middle-Earth.  
Sauron threw his head back; standing in the shade, he looked closely at Penlod’s face. Maeglin could not hear from here, what they were talking about, but Sauron was one of the most powerful Ainur, and his perception, capable of sensing the radiation of dead stars in the intergalactic void, could of course catch a quiet conversation between the two Noldor.

Penlod sat on a bench on a marble paved platform on the city wall, his back to the stone fence that felt hot after a summer day. Turgon's blue cloak seemed to him completely black, and the thin silver diadem on his forehead (in such cases the King did not wear his ceremonial helmet-crown) shone like an evening star.  
\- Do you remember how, when we first met, we compared our heights? – Penlod asked.  
\- I do. Of course, you're taller than me, you're just always hunching up, - Turgon smiled at him. - Why did you remember this now?  
Penlod could not answer "why."  
The evening was so warm and bright - but for several weeks, Penlod had been tortured by a mysterious fear. Usually, when he and Turgon were walking on "his" section of the wall, it was enough for him to have a small, casual talk with his King, to see his white hand on the railing (Turgon, unlike other Noldor, never wore rings or armlets). Sometimes Turgon sighed, looked somewhere in the sky, and then turned to him again with a smile.  
But now, although everything was as usual, Penlod desperately wanted to run to his King and embrace him. He understood that it was stupid and inappropriate, but he couldn’t get rid of the inexplicable feeling that this meeting was the last one, that he would no longer have an opportunity to show Turgon how much he cared for him.  
Penlod was born in Valinor and grew up in his parents' house near Tirion. His brother, a pupil of Fëanor, visited home only once or twice a month. Penlod always listened eagerly to his stories; he learned to read and write (Pengolod wrote an alphabet for him, and on his next visit Penlod was able to proudly display his own register of parental property he had completed by himself). However, all the time he felt that his brother looked down on him with a secret contempt – “you do not understand anyway”. Penlod was so tall and awkward - a head taller than his father, and his brother did not even reach his shoulders. Penlod was always hunching up, trying to huddle in a corner; the more he grew, the shyer he was.  
Once Pengolod worked at home on a task Fëanor gave him: it was a detail of a big item, a lid of a jewel casket. Unlike his teacher, Pengolod was not able to work with letters and jewels equally well. He moved his chisel, and an oval gemstone flew far away and stuck in branches of a tree. Penlod easily extracted it from the branches, only stretching out his hand, and returned it to his brother.  
\- Don’t pride yourself, - Pengolod sniffed instead of gratitude. - The second son of Nolofinwë is taller than you are.  
\- It’s impossible, - Penlod was genuinely surprised.  
\- You can have a look for yourself, - Pengolod shrugged. - Come with me to the city the day after tomorrow, at Nolofinwë’s house: it’s his day of conception.  
Penlod, as usual, sat down on the lowest bench in the far corner of the terrace; here Fingon and Pengolod found him.  
\- Do you think my brother is taller than yours is? - Pengolod asked.  
\- Of course, - exclaimed Fingon, - it's obvious! Here he is, now we'll see! No, no, turn around, turn around, - he whispered to Penlod, - do not look, otherwise you'll be adjusting to him, you try to seem lower than you are. Turucáno, come here! No, you turn around, too, turn around, do not look!  
\- What a nonsense! - Penlod heard the calm, melodious voice of Turgon. - What should I not look at? Well, where are you pushing me! Oh…  
Penlod closed his eyes with embarrassment and felt Turgon's back pressing on to his. Penlod moved away his thick braid, they joined their heads together, and Penlod felt Turgon's warm nape. Then Fingon's hot hand was on his head.  
\- Here! - said Fingon triumphantly. - Pengolod's brother is higher than you by the breadth of my little finger! I must feel insulted.  
\- What a nonsense, - repeated Turgon, turning and facing nose to nose with Penlod. - Good afternoon, - he said to Penlod, smiling, and now Penlod saw that Turgon’s smile was for him. - Forgive him, please. It seems that we are not yet introduced to each other.  
\- You'll have to ask him not to appear in the city again, so that no one will find out that you are not the tallest one among the Noldor, - said Fingon, laughing, - except for out brother Aracáno, of course.  
\- Well, why, - said Fingolfin, Turgon and Fingon’s father, - please come to us, Penlod. We often see your brother Pengolod, but we will be very happy to see you here.  
Penlod started to visit the house of Nolofinwë; he befriended both Findecáno and Aracáno (it turned out that the youngest Nolofinwion was truly taller than Penlod, but he was still a teenager - even more shy than Penlod himself). Turgon was detached and arrogant, he seemed indifferent and cold; besides, he recently married and Penlod saw him rarely. However, gradually Penlod became closer to him; he found out that Turgon was in fact extremely reticent (it was difficult to call it pride or shyness - maybe both) and that it was possible to communicate with him only in private.

Now Turgon smiled at him the same way as when he first saw his face.  
\- Do you think that the crown made me taller? - Turgon asked. - This can be tested ...  
They both wanted to say - "but now there is no one to compare us" - and they stopped talking.  
\- Now we should not turn away, - Turgon said at last, - we're a little acquainted already, are we not?  
Penlod stood up and walked over to him; Turgon straightened up. In reverie, the king wiped off a few withered flowers from a garland, which decorated city walls on the last holiday of Nost-na-Lothion - "the birth of flowers." Their faces became closer, they both straightened up and their noses almost touched. Still, the tip of Penlod's nose was slightly higher; Penlod felt Turgon’s breath, which smelled of strawberries and milk. Penlod could not have dream for more for many years.  
\- The summer begins, - he said to himself softly, sighing.  
\- You see, you're still higher, - said Turgon. - You are the highest of the Noldor, everyone knows that.  
It seemed to Penlod that tears gleamed in the King's eyes; he was ashamed that he must have awaked Turgon's sad memories, but his happiness was so great that he forgave himself this offense. He gave Turgon a hand, saying:  
\- I'll help you down, it's already dark on the staircase.  
\- Of course, - Turgon said, and leaning on Penlod’s hand, lifting up his cloak a little, began to descend into the staircase, lit by the yellow glow of the torches.  
At this time, behind the railing, among the stones, a ghostly blue fire shone like a damp reflection of the moon.

***  
\- What are they talking about? Maeglin asked anxiously.  
\- They measure their heights, - Sauron said, brushing the petals of the withered roses from his hair. - After all, when the servants of Melkor are around, the Doriath is destroyed, Dior is killed, and some of Turgon's cousins are, so to say, neutralized, too - that's awfully important, eh? Perhaps, I would have done the same in their place. Do not worry, they are more stupid than you, Maeglin - if only because you had the intelligence to come to my service. Did you do what I asked you to do? Is there all I've asked you to bring?  
\- Yes, - said Maeglin. He sank to his knees and took off a small black bag from his belt. – Everything is here.  
\- Did it really happen in this place? - Sauron asked.  
\- Yes ... I saw ... there, on this precipice, in the middle ... one stone ... a ledge. It's darker ... it seems to me that there's my father's blood on it. It can not be, I know ...  
\- Well, why not, - Sauron answered. - Sometimes it's very difficult to wash the blood off such a white stone.  
Sauron took out the contents of the pouch and placed everything on a flat stone slab. Small bottles of wine, water and milk. Flowers. The little magical doll that Maeglin made of honey, some grains of the last harvest, the first leaves and green spikelets of this year; he mixed in a few hairs from a lock of Ëol’s hair, which he was still keeping.  
They waited a little longer; finally is was dark.  
Gorthaur put a lamp, made of strange green-lilac glass, on a stone, and lit it.  
\- What if they spot us?  
\- This light is hard to see, - Sauron replied. – Get back.  
Sauron snatched a long knife from his belt and dug a small pit near the stone. He poured out the contents of the bottles; then he put a few long dark chops of wood in there and set them on fire; the flame was dark, bluish, and uneven. Like a carnival magician, he pulled out from under his wide black cloak another small object: it was a cage in which was a small bird. The bird was alive, but looked obviously stunned. Sauron took the bird out and cut off its head so that the blood poured into the dismal flame; he pressed on a small body, as if trying to crush it between his fingers; a few feathers and floss fell into the flames. A strange smell, a mix of alcohol, blood and grasses made Maeglin feel dizzy.  
Sauron began to repeat endlessly, monotonously some strange words that penetrated Maeglin’s heart like needles. Now he realized that after seeing and hearing this, he really could not be the same again and pretend that nothing had happened.  
\- Do you see anything? - Sauron asked. - Look in the pit! Look into the fire!  
\- No... - Maeglin squealed - no...  
\- Very well, - said Sauron. - Wait a minute ...  
He threw a bundle of straw and dried flowers into the fire. The ends of the tongues of this flame became dark; Maeglin now believed that they cannot be noticed from the wall, that this was not an ordinary flame. This sweet smell made Maeglin want to throw up: he was horrified. The smell reminded him of piles of corpses after the Battle of Countless tears.  
Sauron grabbed the wax doll and squeezed it; he held his fingers over the fire. The doll burned, and Maeglin almost smelled the smoldering hair. He wanted to ask Sauron to stop, but the words stuck in his throat.  
\- _Yul! Yulmë_! - he called out. His voice was quiet, but a shiver passed through Maeglin's spine; Sauron’s voice penetrated the very foundation of the stones, into the bottom of the city.  
Everyone was asleep, but Turgon jumped out of bed in his little white sleeping-room; his chest ached. The king went to the window and stared at the starless night sky for a long time.  
\- How do you know my father's real name ... - Maeglin muttered. - E-everyone called him Ëol...  
\- What? So you knew, and did not tell me? – Sauron turned to him. His eyes went from orange to scarlet: they flamed with fury. – I’ve asked you, you son of a bitch. How could you dare?  
\- Well, it's just ... another p-pronunciation ...  
\- Just when you realize that every sound has a value! - Sauron answered. - Oh no, now I will not stop for anything!  
Now there was only a small lump of wax, like a petal, in the palm of his hand; Sauron’s fingers glowed from inside. And with these burning fingers he grabbed Maeglin; Maeglin did not understand whether his clothes actually smelt of fire, or whether it just seemed to him. Sauron knocked him to the ground and the end of his dagger, stained in the blood and grass sap, cut his neck. A trickle of Maeglin’s blood flowed among the stones, flowed into the pit, into the fire, and Sauron exclaimed:  
\- _Yulmë_! Talk to me, otherwise I'll kill your son! Can you hear me? Can you hear me?  
Maeglin heard an almost silent:  
\- Stop it ... Thû ... stop it ...  
Sauron straightened up; Maeglin looked up and saw over the pit the ghostly outlines of his father's figure. His head was broken and split, there was only one eye. The right side of Ëol’s face was covered with black hair stuck together with blood; blood flowed from his mouth, but despite this, his voice sounded clear.  
\- Stop what? – Sauron laughed. - You yourself tried to kill your son. Now just look how much he loves you!  
Ëol held out his hand to them. The right palm dangled limply on a strip of skin; the point of the broken bone was sticking out of his hand, like a knife, aiming in Maeglin’s heart.  
\- Maeglin ... it’s a torment for me ... please leave me alone, - Ëol said. - I ... I was wrong ... Aredhel was not my destiny ... I should not have to do it. I should not ... I had to be content with what I had ... Maeglin ... I’d so much like to be with you again, but do not listen to him, do not listen, please! I do not want to be born again. Do not, this is ... it's so ... so disgusting! I'm a First-Born Elf, I'm a child of Eru, I do not want to get into someone else's womb, I do not want to ...  
\- That's enough, - said Gortaur harshly.  
And Maeglin saw on Ëol's face a pain that he had never seen in his life; Sauron reached out his hand to him, Ëol involuntarily jerked, tried desperately to cover his face with his hands - and Magalin saw a ghostly point of bone stick into Ëol’s eye, turning his face into a bloody eyeless mask.  
But Sauron did not touch him. He only opened his hand, on which there was a wax lump, all that remained from the doll - and Ëol disappeared.  
***  
Penlod remembered how a spear pinned him to the wall.  
\- I’ve let them… I couldn’t fight them… they went to the King's Tower ... I could not ....  
Penlod realized he was being dragged somewhere.  
\- Turgon, forgive me ... please forgive me ... if you can ...  
At that moment a monstrous roar was heard. A cloud of dust rolled over them; Those who carried him threw him to the ground, coughing. It seemed to Penlod that he was now all covered with earth and dust. He knew: the Tower had collapsed, Turgon was dead. He did not want to open his eyes, and he hoped he would die, too.  
"I wanted so much that evening, on the wall, to kiss your hand - and did not dare ..."  
He lost consciousness again.  
\- Ah, you smart motherfuckers! - Sauron said, addressing to the people who carried Penlod and added a few more coarse words; he poked Penlod with the tip of his sword. - There's nothing to be said - of course, I am the one who never had a mother! - He laughed out loud. - Well, why are you staring at me like this? This is not Pengolod, but Penlod, the Lord of the House of the Tower of Snow. I needed the scholar. Do you even know how to read, you Lord of the Tower of Snow?  
\- Yes, - said Penlod, although he probably should have said “no”.  
In fact, he read almost everything that was in the library of Gondolin. After they settled in Gondolin, Penlod spent hours with his nephew, writing down and discussing verses or binding books.  
\- Well, he can be useful. Try to keep him alive. The rest of the Gondolin lords died or fled. Andvir, he must be safe and sound, so now he's your prisoner and at your disposal. Collect books that you can still find. As much as possible. Tell the warriors I will pay for the books.  
Sauron turned his horse and rode away. Nathron followed him. Gwathren, who had just arrived and reported to his master about his trip to the West, frowned, looked into the distance, at the burning ruins. They approached the white stone pyramid where Turgon’s father, Fingolfin, was buried.  
\- Well, Nathron, are you happy now?  
\- I don’t know. Perhaps, I am.  
\- Do you consider yourself avenged? You do not like Noldor, do you?  
\- I do not like them, - replied Nathron. - I do not know, if I don’t like them to such an extent, but yes, I do not wish them well. And the revenge ... I do not know. Anyway ... - He paused.  
\- And you, Gwathren? - Sauron continued. – How do you like all this?  
\- I like it as much as you do, - Gwathren bit his lip and smiled crookedly.  
\- That means "no". Do you know that I was against this?  
\- Now, of course, you can say this; after we, as I’ve heard, lost a few balrogs, not to mention other manpower, you even should, - Gwathren shrugged. - And, as far as I understand, you are so proud of Maeglin that you ought to use him.  
\- You see, Gwathren, if it were only my business, Maeglin would simply poison Turgon. They’ve meet almost every day, Turgon did not refuse to eat in his house (I would not if I were Maeglin’s uncle). Ideally, he had to poison Turgon and Eärendil, or Turgon and Idril (but not all royal family at once), and then Maeglin would have a fine chance of seizing the crown, or at least splitting the city in two parties. Now - mountains of corpses, burning ruins, and burned books, and I, contrary to the general opinion, by no means enjoy all this. After Maeglin showed me the way to the city, his participation was, in fact, no longer required. The fact he gave Turgon some wrong advice here and there, did not really matter - the city could not resist the attack. The only question is whether Turgon himself would have survived. By the way, his death is yet to be confirmed.  
\- It's strange that Maeglin is Fingolfin's grandson, - Nathron said, turning his head to the white mound.  
\- It's not strange, - Sauron said. - Every man for himself. But I admit, for our master this seems somehow flattering. He is very fond of Maeglin.  
Sauron went back to the ruins of Gondolin.  
\- Were you truly ... avenged? - Gwathren asked softly. - You said that you had a reason to hate the Noldor ...  
\- Yes, - replied Natron. - They ... they’ve killed ... they’ve killed my love. Just in passing. They are indifferent to the feelings of the other Quendi. I know it. The fewer Noldor, the better. And what about you? You also have your own reasons to hate, right?  
\- Yes, I do, - answered Gwathren. – I have.  
And turning his horse, he spat on Fingolfin's grave with the words:  
\- The damned liar!

  



	4. The Game Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penlod discovers that Turgon survived the fall of the city, but he is horrified when he finds out what Sauron did to his king on Maeglin's request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the next chapter contain some dubcon / non-con / rape scenes (non-graphic). If you do not like it, you may prefer to skip it and come to chapter 6 or chapter 8, where the actual crime investigation starts. (However, chapters 6 and 7 include some important information).  
> 

  


To Penlod's great regret, he recovered, and recovered quickly.  
Sauron interrogated him many times. At first Penlod refused to answer questions, but then realized that it was useless to persist. All the same, everything was already lost for all of them. Penlod still did not want to tell what he knew about metals and Elven weapons, and asked Sauron to enquire Maeglin about this (Penload loathed even to utter his name). Nevertheless, he was tortured again, and after a few hours he had to give up, except for one or two cases. Gradually, Penlod realized that one of Sauron’s goals was to check systematically everything he had learned from Maeglin; the Ainu had no reason to trust the traitor.  
Maybe Penlod would be always able to keep silence during the interrogations - if not for the collar that was put on him immediately after Sauron ordered him to be healed.  
Collars were a by-product of Sauron's experiments in the field of necromancy and soul control: they suppressed the will to resist, inflicted stupor, lethargy, apathy; everything seemed unnecessary, unimportant, meaningless. They not only turned their bearers into helpless puppets, but also, as Sauron explained, they prevented a soul from leaving the body even during an insufferable torture, when a free Elf would have died long ago. It was impossible to remove the collar without a key, - it somehow stuck to the skin. They were destined for the Elves: on Men, as Sauron himself told him, they acted but a little.  
Sauron was really interested in books. Penlod was struck by his collection of tracts on minerals and herbs; the captive was shown manuscripts not only from the library of Gondolin, but also from other royal residences seized by Morgoth. Sauron questioned him how to read correctly a particular word; what exactly lies behind the description of a particular technical process, how to understand this or that term ("heating, warming or incandescence?").  
Andvir also began to question him, in private: he was interested in valuables belonging to the inhabitants of Gondolin or to other Elves, as well in all kinds of information that could be found in books about the treasures of gold and precious stones, especially in Quenya translations of Dwarfish descriptions of mountains and trade routes. Andvir was rude, forced Penlod to attend upon him, he fed and dressed him poorly, but still Penlod was aware that it could be worse. Despite the daily pain of his loss, he felt some comfort in the thought that Turgon was dead and could not know what happened to his former subjects.  
He saw. He saw a little, but still he saw. A Noldo youth who had smashed his own head, striking his temple with all his might on a fragment of a column would be enough. But, to his regret, he saw many more.

*** 

One day, Andvir returned to his quarters, looked at Penlod, and opened one of his trunks. He took out an old dirty shirt and trousers.  
\- Well, that's not too bad, - he said. – Put it on.  
\- What for?  
It was late autumn, his shirt, full of holes and an old woollen camisole were not too warm, but what Andvir gave him was just a worn piece of thin linen.  
\- You go with me. I’ve lost the game. I want to put you on the line. Basically, you belong to me. Well, yes, Gorthaur ordered me to look after you. But I do not even take you out of Angband, you are not leaving anywhere – we all live here, all the gang, - Andvir explained.  
Of course, Penlod had to consider this before: after all, Andvir was mortal, this slavery would not last forever for him, and someday he can fall into the hands of those who will turn his present captivity into a life of eternal humiliation and pain. Andvir saw fear in his eyes and interpreted it correctly.  
\- You thought that no one ... - Penlod did not know the next word; in the Sindarin he knew there was no such word. It was a human word. Andvir stopped and repeated, - You thought, no one would ever screw you? No way! Come on, it will hurt a little, and that's all, it's not like when your fingers are gripped in a vice. You're a male, in such cases your males do not die at once, not like your women.  
Yes, they do not die. If they do not find an opportunity to smash their heads against a stone. This Penlod already understood. He did not know whether Sauron had deliberately inspired this idea to his rabble, or whether it simply spread among them naturally (if all this could be described as natural). Andvir once mentioned that among many Mannish nations, including his own, is quite customary to rape the vanquished.  
Penlod turned away and began to undress.  
"When I die, and ... well someday I die ... I so wanted to see Turgon, perhaps, in the Halls of Mandos ... Now it may be impossible. I can not even talk to him ... he died with a weapon in his hands, and I ... I'm in this collar, I really became a slave. I can not explain it to him. Let my soul remain here forever... ".

***

\- Do you want to put him against all this? - said Nathron contemptuously, pointing to the table where the jewels lay. – He may not be worth it ... - the tall Avari Elf looked steadily at Penlod.  
\- He is so beautiful ... - someone said.  
Penlod could not look up and did not see who was talking. He did not want to look at their faces and wonder who would become his next master, did not want to be shocked at the thought that he would have someone who would seem to him the most repulsive.  
\- He's a virgin, - Andvir said.  
\- How could it be – six months after the fall of the city? Come on, - someone said scornfully.  
\- I am not a boy and I don’t keep slaves for screwing, you can be sure, - said Andvir.  
He pulled off the Elf’s shirt, untied the ties on his trousers, and they fell to the floor. Penlod felt his cheeks redden in shame and embarrassment: other man’s hands fingered his body in the most secret places.  
\- At least he's still capable of blushing, - Nathron snorted.  
\- I do not know, perhaps six months ago they fucked him once or twice, but to the touch now he feels like a virgin, - said the one who examined him.  
\- A tall one, I’d have to climb a chair to fuck him…  
\- Come on, someone is sure to have something of proper length!  
He was finally released, but they did not give him back his clothes. They’ve made him sit on a table where there were lamps and other things that were at stake: a heavy gold bracelet studded with emeralds, necklaces, huge round brooches, a carved bone chest and other treasures. Andvir, wanting to display his beauty, let his black braids down. A few minutes later, Penlod realized that if his head was lowered, the long locks may close what he was most ashamed to show. He was looking at his knees and tried not to hear to the voices of the players. The game went on, as it seemed to him, for a very short time. There was a loud knock, and Penlod heard Nathron's voice:  
\- Well, that’s it, he's mine, and this bracelet too.  
\- No, I want to recoup my losses, - said Andvir.  
\- You have nothing to put on the line, and he’s mine. What's your name? - and then, without waiting for the prisoner to respond, Nathron asked his former master, - Andvir, what's his name?  
\- Penlod, - Andvir replied reluctantly. - He is one of the former Gondolin lords, heads of the Twelve Houses. I told you.  
Nathron gave back to the captive his clothes. Only now did Penlod realize how cold it was.  
\- Well, that shirt is mine, - Andvir interrupted.  
\- Don’t be mean, - said Nathron.  
\- If this were what he wore when he was captured, it would make sense. The arms of any Gondolin warrior costed more than all the land of your grandfather, - one of the players said contemptuously, - and arms, ornaments and clothes of a Gondolin lord could buy all your tribe – lock, stock and barrel. Now you're squabbling over dirty rags. Why do you always sit here all the time, loosing money, if you're so greedy?  
\- The Men, - Nathron shrugged. – Their blood is boiling – it’s only fifty or sixty years, and that’s the end of it. They want to try everything, but in fact, they do not have neither strength nor patience. Well, Andvir, don’t be mad - take the bracelet, just do not play today any more.  
Andvir spat angrily, taking the bracelet off the table, but in fact, he was grateful to Nathron.  
\- You want to try something, too, eh, Natron? - asked Andvir.  
\- Perhaps, - Nathron replied.  
Nathron put his own camisole on the prisoner (he was very tall, too, only a half-palm lower than Penlod) and took him away.

***  
\- Take your clothes off and lie down, - Nathron said, leading Penlod into his room.  
Until this moment, Penlod had hoped that the new slavery would be just a servitude, that he would not be molested. Now his hopes were dashed. He could not disobey; probably it was because of Sauron’s collar he still was wearing, but as well because he assumed that it's pointless to resist. He thought that he could do the same as he did in the room where the game was going – to close his eyes, to escape inside himself.  
Penlod had to lie down; but when Nathron's hands began to feel his body, he could not stand it.  
\- No ... - he whispered. - No ... no ... do not. Do not touch me here…  
He could only curl into a ball, to freeze, turn into a statue; of course, this would not prevent the outrage, because he could not fight back.  
\- Shut up, - Nathron told him, forcing Penlod to look him in the face. Nathron pursed his lips malevolently; one hand was in Penlod’s hair, the other hand was on his knee. - You must obey me. Lie down properly.  
\- No ... - Penlod answered. - I ... I do not want to. I will not.  
\- I do not want to rape you, - said Nathron. - I do not like such things.  
For a moment, Penlod felt relieved, but Nathron's next sentence made his heart sink, as if it fell down somewhere in his stomach:  
\- If you will struggle, the same thing can happen to you as to your king.  
\- Fortunately, Turgon is already dead, - Penlod said, although he actually understood what Nathron meant: all his insides covered with a crust of ice. - And I, too, would like to die.  
\- Nothing of the sort, - Nathron said cruelly. - He did not die. So far, he can only _pray_ for death. I am sure he's praying for death every minute, but it's useless. Do you want to see him?  
\- I do not want. I do not want!  
Penlod drew back, pressing his back to the wall, but Nathron threw him a shirt and tunic (another ones, clean, thick and warm, not the rags in which he came here), ordering him to dress again.  
He could not, did not want to see his king humiliated, dishonored; but Nathron mercilessly dragged him along the corridors and stairs; finally, when they climbed a staircase of eroded gray stone in one of the oldest parts of the fortress, Nathron asked someone:  
\- Is Maeglin here?  
\- No, he is not, but where...  
\- I am coming in. I must leave a message for him.  
A few more steps, a door, and then another one. Then Nathron carefully, slowly opened this second door, wooden, painted black and blue. Penlod felt the strong hand of Nathron on his head; he forced him to look into the aperture. Penlod looked and saw Turgon.  
Tears gushed from Penlod’s eyes; he put his hand to his mouth, feeling the incoming sickness. Nathron hurriedly led him away. As soon as they walked a few steps from Maeglin's chambers, Penlod started to vomit. Nathron dragged him to the window and poked his head out. Penlod threw his breakfast up. He was frightened at first, and then thought that as far as he knew the Angband people, they would not care much if someone were puking out of the windows - a common sight.  
Penlod, pale, shocked, was still trembling. Nathron led him away.  
\- What's happened with him ... what they did to him?  
\- Maeglin asked our master to redesign Turgon’s body. - Penlod realized that by "master" he meant Sauron, not Melkor. – To make your king carry his child.  
\- Why? … What for? ... - Penlod realized now that he was sick, not only because of what he saw, but also because of the heavy air and the smell of vomit in Maeglin’s rooms.  
\- This Maeglin fellow is completely mad; - Nathron lowered his voice and smiled crookedly. - He wants Turgon to give birth to his father or mother. Or both. He wants them to be reborn. It seems to him that since he lost his parents because of Turgon, his uncle is obliged to bring them back to him ... this way.  
\- And he himself ... he ... - Penlod could not utter either «Turgon» or «the King». - He - does he understand what is going on?  
\- I think, now he does. For the first two or three months, he was completely deranged; Maeglin complained that he had to feed him almost by force. Then, by and by, he started to talk and answer questions. Although of course, Maeglin does not ask him much about anything.  
Nathron stopped. He pushed Penlod into a niche in a wide corridor, made him sit on a broad stone plinth, similar to the table where he was sitting this afternoon.  
\- Will you be good now? - Nathron asked.  
\- Yes, - Penlod said, - yes, of course. Yes.  
Nathron pulled off his pants. Penlod, hearing someone walking down the corridor, thought that his long legs could be seen from outside the niche; but, apparently, such sights were also in the order of things there and no one paid any attention to it.  
He was hurt, but the pain was not as bad as he thought; Nathron still tried to be careful and even now, impatient as he was, he was unexpectedly caring and his touches were not rough. When it was almost over, when Penlod knew he was already raped, he felt that he was crying, crying almost from relief, because it had happened and that there was no need to be afraid anymore.

Letting him out of his own bed, Nathron quickly fell asleep. He did not want to sleep with Penlod in the same bed, so Nathron got him a low couch that he put in the corner of the room. The couch was narrow, but, fortunately, not too short. Penlod also fell into troubled slumber for a while, but slept restlessly, and not only because of physical pain and cold. His heart was thumping with suppressed fear. Why was he so scared now?  
Penlod remembered: when they were coming back to the part of the fortress where Nathron's rooms were, he heard someone's loud voice in the yard:  
"Here is Lord Maeglin."  
Penlod squeezed his hand to his mouth to keep himself from bursting into tears. He was thinking about Turgon.  
The gloomy pictures that presented themselves in Penlod's thoughts were almost true.

  



	5. The One who Lost the Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turgon endures the worst, and Sauron is at his best as regards the eloquence and power of persuasion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the previous chapter contain some dubcon / non-con / rape scenes (non-graphic). If you do not like to read this, you may prefer to skip it and come to chapter 6 or chapter 8, where the actual crime investigation starts. (However, chapters 6 and 7 include some important information).

  


The next morning Maeglin left Angband again.  
Now, casting a look into his chambers, Penlod would have seen the same picture as yesterday: Turgon, kneeling in his tattered nightgown, washing the floor with a rag. The King often felt sick and vomited many times a day; Maeglin always commanded him to clean everything up immediately.  
When Maeglin was not there, he did not have to hurry.  
The Eastern wind whistling through the cracks in the old wooden shutters brought a sudden December thaw; the blasts of wind noisily threw drops of cold rain into the panes. Now Turgon, tired and sleepy, was drowsing off.  
But the rain always reminded him of that day.

He did not even break a single bone. In the very last moment, one of his warriors gave him, almost forcibly, his own helmet instead of the royal one, decorated with the crown, which Turgon took off and threw aside, realizing that it was all over. Still Turgon hurt his head badly. Very badly, judging by the fact that he could not to stand up and straighten up - his head was spinning and his eyes went blank. The armor saved him.  
What for?  
Waking up, he heard the sound of rain. Raindrops leaked, touching his skin, becoming warm inside his shirt and felt lining of his armor. He tried to move, but his hands and feet failed to obey. He would have thrown up, but he had not eaten anything since the attack on the city began - how many days had passed since that moment? Two? Three?  
Then he heard voices. Men? Dwarves? They were interested in jewelry. Probably, even these marauders would recognize him in his crown, but now he had on him an ordinary, though very expensive, helmet.  
\- Quite a bit of gold, - someone said with reverence.  
\- I'll take the heart myself, - he felt a blow from above, on the armor; someone, apparently with a knife, picked off a ruby heart from his chest - a symbol of his House, a memory of the almost useless sacrifice of his father, Fingolfin.  
\- And I'll take the gold.  
His armor was taken off, they’ve turned him over, then turned again; they tore off even an embroidery of tiny pearls from the collar of his fine cambric shirt; he wanted to scream, but something just bubbled in his chest, when they got his marriage necklace, which he had carried all his life under his clothes.  
He remained in the rain, half-dressed; before his eyes everything was dark, he could not see straight, as if he was going blind.  
\- Look, what a fine-looking Elf, - someone said.  
\- We do not need dead whores, - another voice answered.  
\- You see, he breathes. He does not even seem hurt. He probably hit his head against a rock.  
\- Yes, there is no blood...  
Even now these voices still sounded in his head.  
\- He probably was in a silver helmet, a royal guard’s. The others just took it off already, - this man seemed disappointed.  
\- But we would not have more silver, we have enough gold, I’ve stuffed all our saddlebags.  
\- I'd rather lie on something softer than a bag of gold, - one of them laughed.  
He was grabbed by the hair, by the arms, and dragged somewhere; they’ve ripped off what was left of his clothes. The basement and a part of its roof survived the destruction of the King’s tower. The floor was dry and clean. He looked up. Judging by the hooks on the wall and the empty shelves, it was an arsenal room; all weapons, apparently, were used in the defense of Gondolin.  
His hands were tied to one of these hooks. He jolted, trying to escape, to say something, but the gift of speech did not return. Even at that moment he did not understand; only when two of them took him by the feet - one for one, the other for the other, and spread his legs to the sides and upwards - he started to resist, already almost comprehending what was happening. The most terrible thing was that he understood, but could do nothing.  
For years he was preparing himself for the most terrible, hideous death; he pictured himself with a smashed skull, a broken spine, like his father and brothers, imagined an ax cutting through his shoulders and neck, a huge spear piercing his chest with a crunch.  
Probably, now it should not be so painful. He can withstand this. He can pretend that nothing happens.  
But he was in pain.  
His chaste body, that never knew anyone's touches, except the light and kind caresses of his wife, and his pure, naive soul, that for all his life had been trying to escape filth and evil, were enduring an infinite, desperate torment, an agony from which there was no way out. Only when he felt the blood trickling on his skin did he finally scream.  
\- Shut up, you Noldorin whore.  
Someone slapped him in the face. His dizziness grew worse.  
\- Put something inside to stretch him more...  
\- Why ruin him so soon, we can still have more fun on the way.  
He hoped that they would kill him if he would be unable to go. But they have wrapped him in some kind of cloth - expensive, gold-embroidered brocade; apparently, they had already looted enough not to treasure such things - and loaded him onto a pack-horse. On the one side there were bags of jewelry, on the other - he, their living property. On the road they have forced him again and again – almost on every rest break. They did not share their victim with others; they had their own company, which, he now thought, consisted of two or three commanders of small units and a number of their subordinates, whom they allowed to take part in their fun. They’ve barely feed him; he gathered from some of their remarks that they were afraid that if he had more strength, he could try to escape - he was much taller, and if it were not for the shock and exhaustion - probably still stronger than any of them.  
Turgon did now know how many days had passed. He remembered himself lying under a tree, on the ground, his hands tied. They’ve dressed him, trying not to hurt and stain his beautiful pearly-white skin too much, when rolling him on the ground. The dress is tucked up – it is just their whim, now he is alone, and they went to have their supper around the campfire, then - he knew it - they would come back and the torment would begin anew. He is crying - it seems, for the first time, with his face buried in his sleeve. The lavish garment is golden yellow, embroidered with fine-carved leaves and buds, made of orange onyx with white veins (now most of them broken) - the symbols of the House of the Pillar; his clothes smelled of Penlod, of his house, his cloak, which he occasionally threw on his king when Turgon fell asleep on the ground after a long and pleasant outing. Turgon had heard that Penlod was dead, both Glorfindel and Ecthelion were dead, as almost all his other friends and relatives, too. He hoped only that his daughter and grandson were indeed safe, as they said; he imagined how Maeglin must be angry about this. It often occurred to Turgon that if he would have looked like a man having a ten-year-old grandson, it would hardly have occurred to anyone to rape him, - at least for so long.

***

The next evening a huge black horse appeared at the campfire; someone jumped down, holding up the torch and the fire lit up Sauron's evil pale face.  
\- I'm taking away your prisoner, - said Sauron. – If you mention this to anyone now or later, you'll die. And thank me for the rest of your useless lives because I am rather tired, very annoyed and I’ve already wasted a lot of my time and I'm not going to spend even a few minutes cutting off your stupid heads.  
Sauron bound him hand and foot by a cord and dragged him onto his horse; Turgon thought that now he would be strangled, but in fact he was tied up in such a way that he was completely immobilized. The king would have felt something of a relief: most likely, he was in for an excruciating execution, and then, at last, everything would end. He could only hope that his loved ones would never know how he had been dishonored before. But Turgon realized that now he was very scared, so frightened that he was ready to shout and beg for mercy; he realized that he had almost managed to get used to the abominations that had already been done to him, and he was not at all sure that he would be able to withstand a new torture.  
Turgon did not believe that he could be scared anymore, but it happened when he saw how gladly Maeglin rushed to meet them when Sauron brought him.  
\- Well, I'm sorry, - said Sauron to Maeglin abruptly. - He was fucked a lot. I did not have time to deal with them, but actually, there was no reason for this - I do not forbid such things, even on the contrary. Do not be angry, if you want, you may kill them yourself: I can tell you the names, units and rank of at least three of them.  
\- Yes, yes, of course, you tell me later ... but will you do what you’ve promised? Will you do it?  
Maeglin's eyes burned with a fire of madness; he grabbed Turgon, whom Sauron dropped to his feet, embraced him and abruptly, forcibly kissed his temples and broken lips. Turgon could not help thinking with disgust that only at this awful moment he was able to see in Maeglin’s face some familial features and even a resemblance to Fingolfin.  
\- I will, but I’ll do it tomorrow, I have a lot to do tonight, - said Sauron.  
Maeglin dragged the prisoner to a half-empty room, which later, when Maeglin finally settled in Angband, became the hallway of his quarters, and threw him on a woolen blanket on the floor. Now, after so many days of horror and utter loneliness (Turgon, despite being so reclusive, all his life was surrounded by his friends and family and could not even imagine how it was - to be alone amongst enemies), even knowing what Maeglin was, - Maeglin was for him still a person whom he for so many years considered his family.  
\- Mmm ... aeg ... lin ... - he turned to him, stammering; the tongue still failed him after the blow on the head. - Mm ... aeglin ... why? What for? I've ... offended you, I know ... Well, you could have killed me ... I’ve been so many times alone with you ... you could... push me out of the window ... off the wall ... just me ... Only me. Why did you do this to... everyone...?  
Maeglin said nothing: he threw off his cloak and began to unfasten the buckle on his trousers; his hands were trembling and he struggled with it, it seemed, forever.  
\- Ma…eg…lin… are you… Will you… too? Please, don’t ... Sonny ...  
\- I'm not your son, do you hear me? - Maeglin bent down and hit him hard with his fist in the temple so that Turgon’s head banged against the floor with a loud thud.  
Turgon lost consciousness and woke up in a closed, marbled, brightly lit room, tied to a table.  
He heard Maeglin's voice, but Sauron immediately interrupted him:  
\- You shut up now. You already have been smart enough to knock on the head, when he not yet recovered form the shock and concussion after the fall from Tower. Get out of here. I do not want to see you at least until ... until I call.  
Turgon turned his head, looked around; he saw grooves in the stone floor - apparently to drain blood.  
\- Well, let's begin, - said Sauron cheerfully. - I've already given you a pain medication, but it will hurt. And I'm not at all sure if something will work out and you will survive.  
\- What ... should work out? ... - Turgon asked hardly audibly, without waiting for an answer.  
\- Stuff and nonsense. Your nephew heard that I could create the female organs in the body of a male Elf so that he could conceive and carry a child. You deprived Maeglin of his parents, - the poor boy! - and the rest of the family died or run away, so that now he wants to create a family with you. He is even ready to try to be a man and make you to conceive a child. Do not ask me how he got the idea.  
\- How could you invent such abominations! - Turgon exclaimed indignantly.  
\- Well, you see, one stupid and stubborn male Elf decided that he urgently needed to conceive and give birth to a child of another Elf (of course, also a male - or I would be completely confused) and asked me to help him. No, I do not name any names. Naturally, I helped him, because it was very interesting. Since then I know very well how to do it and now you’ll see it for yourself.  
Turgon experienced an unprecedented shock; his mind, which had already been damaged after the trauma, rape and a meeting with Sauron and Maeglin, now began to tear, becoming worthless, like a worn out shirt. He was expecting tortures - fire, iron, and water - but not a new round of humiliation. Formerly he imagined torture and pain as a kind of a swordfight, from which one can go out with honor - or escape shamefully; but now no one was fighting with him. After all, when they say "he struggled with meat" - it's just a stupid, unhappy metaphor: no one actually struggles with food, sand or straw - it's just used, thrown out or trampled ...  
...He lost so much blood and was so close to death that Sauron had to put his collar on him so that his soul would not slip away. Turgon felt a silent, cold stupor in his entrails, in the whole body - as it was during the passage through the Ice, when they failed to ignite the fire, and he tried to eat a piece of frozen broth.  
Sauron lifted the coverlet from the pale body, spread on the bedsheets.  
\- Why did you leave him his penis? - asked Maeglin nervously.  
\- For you to go and fuck yourself, you little rat, - Gortaur replied calmly. – Stop asking stupid questions. He could bleed out to death from the unnecessary incisions. Does it make you unable to get hard? I think you could not get an erection on the first day. You’ve probably hit him on the head so that he could not understand that you were not able to perform and thought that you screwed him while he fainted away.  
Maeglin said nothing. Sauron said the truth: then, for the first time he saw Turgon after the attack on the city, he really simply could not force him. In fact, deep down he was afraid of his uncle, and that's why he still could not kill or poison him, although he wanted to. Even shattered and tormented, unconscious, Turgon still evoked in his heart a feeling close to reverence.  
\- Well, do not worry, - said Sauron. - Suppose, he is not a virgin from behind and probably from above, but I’ve made for you what you wanted - a brand new womb in which surely no one else ever was before.  
\- When will you know that he is expecting? - asked Maeglin.  
\- I think, the next day; the day after next I definitely will, - answered Sauron and left.

***

\- And? - Maeglin asked impatiently.  
\- Nothing yet, - Sauron said. - I would have seen right away.  
\- It's because he does not want it, - Maeglin answered bitterly.  
\- Very likely.  
\- So make him want to! Your collar, apparently, is not of much help in this, - Maeglin, irritated, pounded the desk.  
Sauron first wanted to say: "How dare you to speak with me this way?" - but then he realized that in some respect Maeglin might be right. The collar suppressed the prisoner’s will, prevented the tormented _fea_ , from parting with the body, but at the same time it did not allow the prisoner to manifest his will to conceive. Without this will, an Elven body (regardless the circumstances under which the female organs came to be in this body) could not bear the child.  
\- Well, I'll try to talk to him so that I break his resistance. But, Maeglin, to remove the collar is dangerous; he can die right there. I would like you to be there and ready to help him conceive at any moment, as the moment can be missed.

***

\- You think that Maeglin and I are bad guys, - Sauron said, removing the bindings that held Turgon’s knees, and ran his fingernail over the bruised skin: scratches and cuts had not yet healed. - You probably consider yourself perfect. Despite everything that you had to go through, I can not help admiring your physical perfection.  
He rested his hot hands on Turgon's thighs, tracing the lines of his legs to the knee - outside and inside, his sides, chest; finally, Sauron’s long fingernails almost iimperceptibly, easily slid over his cheeks, stopped over his eyeballs at the very eyelashes, and outlined the lines of his pale mouth (the loss of blood was still felt). Even if the king jerked, trying to put out his own eyes or disfigure his own face, Sauron with his inhuman reaction would have had time to take off his hands. Turgon felt as if a mouse or rat was running across his face.  
\- But what's inside you? - Sauron continued. - Have you ever tried to look at yourself from the outside? What good did you do for your subjects? For your family? You may tell me - "I fulfilled the will of the Valar". Even if I stand on your point of view, it still turns out somehow ... ugly. When your father and brother carried out the siege of Angband - and this was a glorious deed, I witnessed it - was it a great comfort to them that in your city Pengolod wrote a new treatise on Elven languages? Even if your participation in the lost battles saved several hundred lives, did it change anything? I admit Fingolfin and Fingon were very nice Elves. I'd say in earnest that maybe when one of them was lying in the mud with a fractured spine and the other with a split skull, they were very happy with the thought that at this moment you could be sitting by the window looking at the fountains playing in your gardens. But don’t you feel ashamed yourself? After all, in fact, you just ran away. You know, this is what little children do when they do not like something - they throw cups and toys on the floor and run away weeping. When you came here in Middle-earth, you did not like it there, I can understand it. And when you realized, that there was no hope for a happy ending - and you always were shrewder than many of your brethren, you did understand it - you used a pretext and slipped away. It seems to me that there is some justice in the fact that you lived and shared the fate of your surviving subjects: it’s only fair that this time you could not escape and that I could not get you at once. By the way, that’s what Maeglin asked for – to bring you to him immediately. Your nephew only wished you well.  
Sauron leaned over him. His eyes shimmered with a rosy and orange haze, like a sunset over water. It seemed to Turgon that he was looking into a terrible, enormous fiery whirlpool that could absorb even the bright radiance of the stars.  
\- You and your sister were a couple of small, irresponsible Quendi. I'm even ashamed to call you "Noldor", the knowledgeable ones, because this word completely loses its meaning in relation to you. You are just Quendi, which means _funny talking critters_ and nothing else. Having escaped from your father and the elder brother, you started to build houses and fountains, to invent your own heraldry, banners and flags, to play the king and the princess. Did you think about what your father was going through when your sister disappeared in the forest for two decades? Why did you decide that you had to bring the child's father into your silly game of hide and seek? Why are you so arrogant, who gave you the right to judge?  
\- I was in charge of those who trusted me, - Turgon finally answered, - I was in charge of others, not just my sister and nephew. I should have made such a decision for them.  
\- But then you'd be much kinder to everyone if you killed Maeglin right there. You, Noldor, suffer so much when you lose your parents; remember at least Fëanor. Poor Maeglin, he had to live for decades with the one who executed his father! Just think about it. Would you be able to? Although, it seems, the death of Fingolfin does not mean much for you ...  
\- Shut up, - Turgon groaned.  
\- He had to walk every day past the wall from which you threw his father; to go past the moat where Ëol had shattered his skull; imagine yourself in his place. Imagine that. You tell me: Ëol wanted to kill him. Yes, but would you not forgive Fingolfin if he, in a fit of insanity and despair, knowing that you refuse to fulfill your filial duty, being tempted by the beauty of a strange city, - would have tried - I would not say "murder" - but shoot at you? Are you sure that he wouldn’t miss - consciously - if your sister had not rushed to meet the arrow? Are you sure he _wanted_ to hit his mark? - Sauron kept his fiery eyes on Turgon's face. - You say that Maeglin did not beg for the life of his father. The poor child! Of course, he did not beg...  
Sauron reached for the collar and began to unfasten it gradually.  
\- Could he have imagined that you, so self-righteous, dressed in your magnificent garments, armor and mantle with golden suns and silver moons, crowned with a high crown, would listen to the plea of an unfortunate youth, a forest elf, orphaned, frightened, who violated the laws of your city that were unknown to him? - Sauron removed his collar and put it aside. - What would he not give to see his father and mother again? What would you not give, Turgon, if you were him?! Perhaps, now Maeglin is insane - I understand this; I realized this when I saw him for the first time, and was amazed that you did not notice that - but you could take pity on him even now. I’ve even let you live - forever, or, at least, for many years; I did it, although it would be fair to execute you in the main square of your so-called city in the edification of the other Elves of Beleriand and all of Middle-earth. Even for a few minutes, stop hating him so much: Maeglin loves you, though in his own way. I have talked with him for a very long time, and I do not even know whom he loves more - you or the one whom he sought earlier. I do not know if anyone else in the world loves you so much right now; even your surviving friends are sure that you are dead. Moreover, Maeglin is ready to love you now, ready to love you even in this condition, is ready to embrace you, - not a king in gold brocade dress, but the disgraced, chained prisoner. You could give him a little hope - after I have done so much to make his hopes come true ... There's not much that’s demanded from you, poor Maeglin asks very little – just do not reject him this time ...  
Gortaur tapped imperceptibly into the wall. Maeglin entered; he staggered like a drunkard; perhaps he really was drunk.  
\- Maeglin, - Sauron whispered to him, - please, behave yourself this time. It was not so easy.  
Sauron was almost certain that Maeglin was drunk. But the main thing was done - Turgon finally gave up.  
Sauron leaned over him and said casually:  
\- You're so pale, you must eat this, - and Turgon swallowed something sweet, crunchy, like a burned cake; he did not understand what it was. The king cried, tears almost blinded him; he did not see Maeglin, did not see the room. He felt shame, regret, self-loathing, that had been growing in him for a long time, but which he did not permit himself to feel - for the sake of those whose lives depended on him.  
Now nothing depended on him any more.  
\- Uncle, please, - Maeglin sobbed. – My dear sweet uncle ...  
The king felt that his womb, where he still felt pain since after the first time last morning, opened, felt Maeglin inside him.  
He embraced Maeglin, and probably even patted him on the back of his head.  
\- Excellent, - said Sauron with satisfaction, - let the poor boy continue along those lines. At least, this time he was smart enough to get drunk.  
He left the room so as not to interfere with the matter; Nathron was waiting for him.  
\- Look, I still managed to learn something from Yavanna, - said Sauron, smiling. - They may believe that I'm marring everything, but everything here is budding and blooming, not like in some other, unmarred gardens! Have you noticed that this idiot can not persuade _no one_ give in to him? I had to make a passionate speech for an hour instead of him. How do they breed?  
\- Well, if we talk about Finwë's descendants, the ones in Beleriand in general breed very poorly, it's true – only with help from Ëol or from you... - Nathron laughed.  
***  
Turgon was unconscious for two more days. The exhausted body and mind, that Sauron affected not only with words, but also with his will, rejected the reality. However, he could not die. Even without a collar.  
Waking up, Turgon felt something that a younger Child of Ilúvatar could never feel, but he, being an Elf, felt right away. Now another, more powerful instinct, did not let him die - he was carrying the child of Maeglin in his womb.  
He curled into a ball in the corner of his bed.  
\- What's wrong with her? Why did not she come? Why did not she come? - someone asked in his mind, obsessively repeating the conversation he heard once in passing somewhere (where? in Brethil, in Targelion? – and when? Two hundred? Hundred? Fifty years ago?).  
And a ceremonious, quiet, even voice answered with intonations and accent of a forest Elf (which Turgon could not tolerate, as he did not tolerate Sindarin at least in his own palace), in a bizarre Sindarin dialect with ridiculous, primitive, indecent words:  
\- She’s in a family way. _En gwiniel na giol._  
He remembered how Pengolod half-whispered to him that the “family way” ( _giol_ ), in fact, means an Elf-woman who had just conceived, literally the other day (an indecency about which the Noldor would hardly have spoken aloud).  
“A family way”, yes, “a family way”, - he told himself, and laughed.  
He remembered nothing and understood nothing; in his memory there was a number of isolated pictures - Maeglin shouts at him, insults him, begs for something; his body knew that Maeglin had him, but he could not remember it. Maeglin forcibly fed him something gluey and tasteless: a disgusting gruel of poorly flailed wheat grains, unleavened bread. At the same time Maeglin was saying something without a break, but Turgon could not understand anything, because he almost forgot who he was himself, forgot what had happened before, who was this Tuor and what it had to do with all those gates, towers and arms – and what are those “arms”?).  
Once his mind unwillingly singled out a few words from Maeglin's long speech and to a remark about "I want to see my parents", Turgon replied:  
\- Are you sure your parents would want to see you?  
Maeglin was literally furious; he slapped him so strongly that blood started to flow from his nostrils, he grabbed Turgon's hair and began dragging him around the floor, twisting his arms, swearing scurrilously. At the same time, apparently, he still was not so mad as to kick him.  
After that, Turgon finally came to his senses. He was in the chambers of Maeglin - a low, dark room with narrow windows, with a low bed of dark wood. His lips were broken; he sighed, and a blood clot flew from his nose. Maeglin came and returned with a tall, dark-haired Avari (Turgon remembered - his name was Nathron), who examined his wounds and bandaged his broken finger. Nothing wrong happened.  
Turgon still could not understand what kind of person Maeglin was if the pregnancy of the mother of her own child would not deter him, an Elf, of such actions. Maeglin wanted to constantly assert his power over him; he raped him both ways, as a man and as a woman. He even started to think that Maeglin was no better than those who had abused him in the ruins of the fallen city: the Sinda Elf who whispered almost devotedly, lying down on him: "how gorgeous you are", or a gloomy Noldo who turned to Sauron's side after years of torment in captivity, to whom the others said: "Do not be afraid, look under your lord’s dress". Both would be now better than Maeglin.  
Now he knew that Maeglin was always like that - and now Sauron just allowed him to have his way, that's all. ***  
  
Penlod woke up early in the morning; it was still quite dark. At first, he could not understand where he was; then he remembered – he was sleeping on a couch in Nathron's room, he felt the pain - and remembered everything else.  
He thought that, probably, if not for the collar, yesterday he would die of unbearable grief.  
Although, in fact, why?  
After all, Turgon is alive. He is defamed, tormented, driven to insanity - but he is alive, and, at least, while he is carrying a child (if he really is, Penlod thought) - most likely, he will not die. But no one can help him, no one is able to protect him from pain and mistreatment.  
However, he could at least try. Even despite the collar.

  



	6. I have nothing but my own life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Now explain me, you retarded moron: I’ve spent at least three days to satisfy your moronic demands, and now you are dealing with Turgon the way that all my work can be wasted. I understand that you are an idiot and your family is a family of idiots, and since you now, as you say, are the head of this family, you, of course, act it, but you have to stop somewhere.

  


A week ago 

Gwathren's black-haired companion held fast to his belt: it didn’t make him nervous any more, although at first it was difficult to get used to. Alachorinel was a forest Elf, was not used to riding, and they had to travel a lot. Twice already they found something that seemed very much like what they were looking for. Nevertheless, after having a closer look and asking some questions, they quickly realized: no, they have to continue the search on Sauron’s behalf.  
They saw two or three small houses on the river bank. The day was waning, snowflakes soundlessly disappeared in the dark river. There were three girls standing at the bridge, two dark-haired, tall ones, one slightly taller; on her head, she wore a dark mantle.  
\- It’s her! - Alachorinel pointed to the girl in the mantle. – There she is!  
\- Are you sure, Alincë? - Gwathren asked his companion. - You can not even see her face.  
\- I see everything, - she answered.  
The girls screamed; Gwathren grabbed the girl in the scarf by the hand; the mantle fell, and he saw her rosy, fine-looking, sad face, pink with cold; heavy golden locks fell over his shoulders. She was still quite young – no more than fourteen to fifteen years old. Although the golden-haired Elf-maid was older than the little Elwing, she did not have the innate resolve of Luthien’s granddaughter: the girl seemed helpless and confused. Gwathren looked back at Alachorinel, but she nodded once more. There was no way out.  
\- Yes, - he said. - We found her. I'm sorry, lady, but you'll have to come with me.  
\- I understand - he saw tears in her eyes – they’ve told me...  
He saw two Elves - a man and a woman - running out of the house. The man had a long knife in his hand. They stopped when they saw that he was holding their daughter and noticed Sauron's emblem, embroidered on Gwathren's sleeve under his black cloak. The girl's father dropped his hands in despair.  
\- Forgive me, - said Gwathren. - She just will have to answer a few questions. No living being will be hurt because of this, and she herself will not be harmed.  
\- But I cannot tell anything at all to you. Is it possible to wait a little - can I stay here for a while? ... - the girl asked.  
\- No, - Gwathren shook his head. – Leaving you here can be dangerous, too. Sauron is not the only one who can be interested in you. We cannot take the risk.  
\- Let her go! - the girl's mother cried. The father embraced his wife desperately, not letting her to rush for their daughter’s help, hiding his face on the woman's shoulder. - You're not a Quendi! You're a freak! I’d like to see the rot that lies under your beautiful face and dress!  
\- Look, woman, - answered Gwathren. – You're right that when I came to Gorthaur’s service, I, perhaps, lost the right to be called an Elf – an Elda, in any case. But indeed, in the hearts of those Elves who boast that they were born in the Blessed Realm and call themselves Calaquendi, “Elves of the Light”, there is more rot than in the souls of those who are called "gray" of "dark" elves. If I am no longer an Elf, not a Quendë – “the one that speaks” then I have no right to give you my word. I have nothing but my own life. I can give only my life as a guarantee that your daughter will not be harmed. I can swear by the walls of Angband - it is not so easy to take my life.  
He took the golden-haired girl's hand in his. Her fingers seemed so fragile, as if they were made up of bones without flesh. Gwathren sat her on his horse in front of him and started to gallop: Sauron had already waited too long. Her dark-golden hair in the wind intertwined with his, straw-colored.  
\- Shall I come back for you? - he shouted to Alachorinel.  
\- No, I'll get back myself! I'll be at home if you need me! - she answered.  
\- Seer, - the man addressed to Alachorinel, - why are you helping them? Why do you serve Morgoth?  
She did not answer immediately.  
\- There are too many lies and misunderstandings around, - she said. - I do not serve Morgoth, for he is not only himself deceitful, but he does not want to know the truth either. However, everyone has the right to know the truth. Even Gorthaur, if he really wants it.  
\- We knew, - said the girl's mother, - I knew it all along, from the very beginning. We knew, but... What will happen to her? What will happen to her, Seer?  
Both came to their senses and cried.  
\- I believe Gwathren, - said the Seer. - He will not hurt her. He would not have taken her if she had been threatened, and I would not have gone with him if it were so. Another thing is that then she will hardly want to return to you...

***  
\- Come on, sit down. - Nathron called Penlod to the table. He divided the food between them, putting bread, cheese and salted vegetables from a clay pot on two plates. - Gwathren is preparing all this stuff in his free time; otherwise, I would eat only dry biscuits. It looks like Andvir did not feed you at all. What an odd combination of prodigality and greed!  
When Andvir said that he wanted to put one of the Gondolin prisoners on the line, hostile and vengeful feelings stirred up in Nathron’s heart again. He did not take part directly in the attack on the city, being in the headquarters of Sauron at the last gates, - the Iron Gates, built by Maeglin, - giving and passing orders. He did not have an opportunity to wreak his anger on a living being, and he did not want it: he refused to participate in the fate of the prisoners. Seeing one of the Gondolin Noldor so close, so helpless, he again became angry and, to be honest, he was excited by the sight of the exposed naked body. But now he almost regretted about what he had done to Penlod: Penlod had done nothing wrong to him personally, and those who had been guilty of Nathron’s misfortunes, had already been punished enough.  
\- Gwathren is really good at cooking, - Penlod sighed, putting more vegetables on his bread.  
\- I'll tell him, - Nathron grinned, - he is coming today. He escorts a lady.  
\- How ... how did Gorthaur manage to do this to Turgon? - Penlod at last ventured to ask.  
\- As far as I know, this is a combination of his Ainu abilities and his knowledge of living bodies, - replied Nathron. - I help him sometimes.  
\- To maim and torture? - Penlod could not help it. The mental anguish tore him from inside out, and now it was no longer his own pain; he wanted to express it to someone, even to one of those who caused this pain. In addition, although Penlod's knew very well that he is talking with one of the Sauron’s servants, his soul could not get rid of memories, impressions, and habits: Nathron, despite his rude Sindarin accent, outwardly was totally "one of the lads". Apparently, he belonged to one of the clans of Avari, that were the closest relatives of the Noldor, and in appearance he could be Penlod’s cousin or uncle.  
Nathron leaned back in his chair and looked steadily at Penlod.  
\- Has anyone tortured you here? - he finally asked.  
\- Yes, - Penlod answered, - at first they asked me a lot about metals and... all kind of things about blacksmithing.  
\- Did you become a cripple after that?  
\- I'm not talking about myself, - Penlod said.  
Nathron nodded.  
\- I'm good at sewing, - Nathron said after a pause, - I can make very small stitches. More often I have to stitch up than to make cuts. I am a forest Elf, as you understand. I can use all parts of an animal's body - wool, claws, entrails, sinews, bones, blood vessels. As you see, I acquired a certain skill in this. - Nathron pointed at his shoulder, and for the first time Penlod saw an astonishing pattern sewn with a modest black thread on a dark gray broadcloth: in the embroidery, there were fluffs of gray and black fur, small feathers, claws and painted bones of birds. - There is no particular difference between the bodies of animals and Eldar or Men. It is like a dead animal, Penlod. You can shoot an arrow into an eye of a wolf and just kill it, and I can shoot an arrow and then use a wolf skin for a dozen good things, use its meat, bones, and claws, make ointments from its bone marrow and liver. Maeglin could simply kill Turgon, but because of Gorthaur his body was not wasted. He is as good as dead, neither his city, nor his kingdom are no more. They could send him to the mines in the ices, but now his royal blood feeds the child in the womb. I think it's good.  
“He's just a piece of meat for them, - Penlod thought in almost the same words as Turgon himself a few months ago. - But anyway…”  
\- Nathron, but in any case it was not easy to do, am I right? Does Gorthaur appreciate... Maeglin... so much? - Penlod forced himself to pronounce the name.  
Nathron hesitated.  
\- I would not say this, - he replied. - Gorthaur did not like Maeglin from the start (if it comforts you, of course), and now he does not need Maeglin at all. Another thing is that ... Gorthaur said that this operation required a huge strain of all his forces. I took care of Turgon in the first days after Gorthaur changed him. Yes, it was not an easy thing to do and it was not easy to keep him alive after that.  
\- Look... if Gorthaur worked so much to keep him - the king - alive… – Penlod’s breathing seized up, but he continued. - Is it good that Turgon now ... lives like this? When we got there with you, he was dressed in dirty rags; I saw him washing the floor or cleaning something up; there was such a bad smell...  
\- It's not his palace or Rose Alley, - Nathron said, waving his hand holding a bit of bread with cheese.  
\- I ... I've never been married and I do not know much about it, - Penlod continued, - but I helped my brother and nephew to copy some treatises on the nature of Ilúvatar's children, and... I think if a pregnant woman is forced to work too hard, the child may not to be born at all or something wrong can happen to it. The Quendi normally do not do this to his wives - this happens among Men. However, our women are also...  
\- I understand. Of course, you would like to do something for your former master ... I think almost any Noldo would do the same in your place. But I... - Nathron put the bread down on the plate and looked at Penlod. - In fact, Penlod, you may be right. Gorthaur was very busy with other things recently, he should not have been distracted, but now, I think, I could talk to him. Especially now, when Gwathren returned. Well, Penlod, you won, I'll go to him, that's indeed doesn’t look good. After all, if something happens to Turgon and... the child, I may be found guilty, since I also saw what was going on and did not report it. 

***

At the entrance to Sauron’s chambers, Nathron met Gwathren. He accompanied a girl in a black mantle. Gwathren stopped to say hello to him; the girl lifted the mantle. Up to that moment, Natron had never seen her, but the deep golden hue of her hair, the outlines of her thin nose and lips, seemed familiar to him.  
\- I'm glad you came back, - Nathron said. - You're travelling with ladies, and I’ve got my own servant now.  
\- Oh, - Gwathren wrinkled his nose, - are you going to give me some sleep? Or your servant is not in _this_ department? - He looked a little nervously at Natron, fearing that he had offended him.  
\- Well, he is, for that matter, and that’s why I need to say a few words about this to Gorthaur, - Nathron answered after a pause.

***  
\- I was in the Maeglin's rooms yesterday, when he was not there, and I saw Turgon, - Nathron began.  
\- And what's there? - Sauron asked without much interest. - By the way, why did you go there?  
\- I wanted to show to one Gondolin Noldo what happened to another, - Natron smiled.  
\- Yes, I am sure it was very enlightening, - Sauron agreed. – A forced consent, when the other understands how things can turn around, if it does not give it to you, can be very enjoyable. I hope your captive was impressed, and you’ve spent a pleasant night?  
\- Oh yes, - replied Natron. - He was impressed so much that he vomited.  
\- Really? Oh, yes, it's already the sixth month of the term ... it should be showing.  
\- I think he vomited also because the room is stuffy and stinky, - Natron said. - When I looked inside, Turgon was washing the floors.  
\- Indeed? - Sauron asked. He got up and reached for a small silver box with medical instruments.  
\- Maeglin forces him to wash the floor every time he is sick and vomits, and I understand that Turgon is sick many times a day. I do not know anything about pregnant women, but it seems to me that it is too much if Maeglin is indeed interested in a positive outcome.  
Sauron pursed his lips and looked attentively at Natron, so that he felt uneasy.  
\- Yes, - he finally said, - I agree with you and I have not seen my patient for a long time. Let’s go, I'll take a look at him.

***  
They found Turgon in the same situation as yesterday: he was holding a rag in his hands, kneeling, leaning against the bed, with his head on the blanket, trying to cope with a new bout of vomiting. He looked at Sauron with horror and, as it seemed to Nathron, even tried to hide under the bed.  
\- Do not be afraid, - said Gortaur, - I need to have to look at you. Lie down.  
The ex-king froze in horror. Sauron and Nathron dragged him to bed; he tried to fight back, but apparently, he was too exhausted to resist. Sauron rolled up his sleeves and thrust his long fingers into his womb, felt his belly all over. For Nathron, it was a sickeningly disgusting sight, and he thought that the horror Turgon experienced now could be as harmful for him as Maeglin’s harassments. He thought – to his own surprise – that he got into this, in fact, for the sake of Penlod, whom a few days ago he did not know at all.  
\- It's all fine, - Sauron smiled almost joyfully. - Everything's fine, wonderful, very interesting! Why didn’t I see this before? Well, have a rest, my lovely. Where can I wash my hands in this pigsty? - He snorted.  
Turgon still was in bed, silently sobbing, covering his face with his hands, unable to move. Nathron joined the king's legs, still parted and covered him with a blanket.

***

\- Maeglin, - Sauron began, - I’ve found out you treat Turgon badly, force him to work, feed him poorly and your rooms are dirty. What can you tell me about this?  
\- He lives with me and carries my child. He's my family, - Maeglin answered.  
\- So what? - asked Sauron.  
\- I'm now the head of the family, - Maeglin said.  
This phrase was completely inappropriate, but he was very pleased to say it. He already said this many times, addressing to Turgon, but his uncle did not react, and Maeglin could not say these words to anyone else, but he wanted to.  
\- Let's see, Maeglin, - Sauron said. - Tell me, please, if you had come to your uncle’s bedroom a year ago and raped him, would he have become pregnant? I don’t think so. Now explain me, you retarded moron: I’ve spent at least three days to satisfy your moronic demands, and now you are dealing with Turgon the way that all my work can be wasted. I understand that you are an idiot and your family is a family of idiots, and since you now, as you say, are the head of this family, you, of course, act it, but you have to stop somewhere.  
Maeglin looked at Nathron with hate, his fists clenched.  
\- Why did not you all come running when I thrashed him? Nath, you knew about this?! - Maeglin shouted; his face was red, his hands were trembling. - Now, when I'm in favor with our Master, you want...  
Sauron looked at him attentively. Maeglin realized only now that Nathron had kept his word and had not said anything to their master.  
\- What's the story, when did it happen? - Sauron asked. The tone of his question sobered Maeglin; he stepped back and leaned against the door.  
\- Three months ago. Maeglin beat him up until he was bleeding and asked me to bandage his hands. There was a broken finger, a dislocated wrist and some bruises. After I’ve treated him, everything seemed to be all right, - Nathron said with reluctance.  
\- Anyone can lose his temper and use his fists on somebody, - said Sauron. - I say "anyone" although I should have said «an idiot like you», but I’ve said “anyone” just to make you understand. As far as I know now, it happened only once, and I will not punish someone right now because I was not informed about it in time. Nevertheless, to force a pregnant woman to wash floors many times a day, one must either have a mole’s brains, or want that woman to miscarry. I guess it’s the first case.  
\- I will not do it again, - Maeglin answered. – Me too... I also have hopes for... I will treat him well, I promise! I just do not want to have strange people in my quarters. And he is always sick, I don’t want to clean it myself...  
Sauron interrupted his excuses with a gesture.  
\- It's my own fault that I haven’t noticed this before, - said Sauron, - but I had a lot of things to do. Now you will travel to the Salgant’s smithies and look if everything is ready there. When you return, in your rooms will be some of my people, and they will watch you and Turgon for the remainder of the term. I’ve fulfilled my part of the agreement with you and spent a lot of time and efforts on this matter. Even though I'm immortal, you have no right to unlimited use of both. Do you understand me?

***  
When Maeglin left, Sauron called Gwathren again.  
\- Gwathren, dear, - said Sauron, - I have one more assignment for you, an extremely unpleasant one, I admit, and I'm afraid it's a long one, too. For a few months.  
\- When am I leaving?  
\- Oh, no, this time you're not leaving anywhere, it's all here. You have to look after Turgon.  
Sauron looked attentively at Gwathren, pleased with the effect.  
Gwathren froze. The first thing he imagined was that Sauron was talking about the dead body of the king; Sauron was always very interested in how the corpses decomposed under different conditions, and Gwathren imagined that now he would have to look at Turgon’s remains for weeks. Although it's been almost six months...  
\- I believed Turgon was dead, - Gwathren said.  
\- Originally, unfortunately, I believed the same, - answered Gortaur, - but he survived, poor thing, and Maeglin asked me in tears to give him his uncle and make him become pregnant. I know now how to do such things.  
Gwathren sat on a chair opposite Sauron, leaning on his staff.  
\- You don’t mean that he really expects Maeglin’s child, do you?  
\- I mean it.  
\- Well, but ... how could he ever get pregnant after a rape? I do not think that among the Elves this is possible.  
\- The poor boy all the time was talking some kind of nonsense about the dirty seed and about something being marred in someone's vagina forever. In the end, I suggested to Turgon that it would be only fair to offer the poor boy a pure and unused womb. You can ask Turgon if he is still capable to an articulated speech - I am reluctant to repeat all this, I'm afraid that my own sanity could be marred irrevocably. You do not know the most interesting thing, - Sauron beamed, obviously amused, - Maeglin looks forward to the rebirth of his father. Or mother. Or both.  
\- But you can not control it, - Gwathren shook his head. - Are you deceiving him, or has Maeglin gone completely mad?  
\- Both, - Sauron replied. – And there’s the third opportunity: theoretically, it is still possible, at least, with respect to Ëol. His spirit did not go to the palaces of Mandos, and I managed to talk to him. I do not really believe that he will want to return to life, especially in this way, but, again, this is possible.  
\- Why are you keeping Maeglin in your service, than? - Gwatren asked. - All this sounds crazy.  
\- Well, I agree, - Sauron replied reluctantly. - And after today's conversation, I definitely don’t like him. But he is now trying to get closer to ... my master. I have to be careful around him. So do not think that this task it less important that the ones you’ve got before.  
Gwathren was silent; He several times tapped with the end of the staff on the floor and asked:  
\- Why now? It means you were able to make him get pregnant just now? What happened to him before that?  
Sauron leaned his elbows on the table, leaning heavily forward to Gwathren. His yellow eyes seemed dull.  
\- No, I think it happened about three weeks after the storming of the city. Again - he will tell you, if he wants, there will be plenty of time.  
Gorthaur paused, and then added:  
\- Gwathren, I'm grateful to you for bringing her... Nothing untoward will happen to her, I promise.  
\- You promise a lot, - said Gwathren.  
\- For example?  
\- You promised me: “when it's all over”... Did not everything end with the capture of Gondolin?  
\- Formally not, - Sauron replied, - but in fact, yes: all the great Elven kingdoms have fallen. Nargothrond, Doriath and Gondolin are in ruins; the supreme king is the young Gil-Galad, who is separated from us only by a narrow strait and by the might of Ulmo.  
Sauron came to the window; on this day, a soft, wet winter came and large snowflakes fell on the lattice windows with stained glass.  
\- Why did not you come to me then, in the summer? - Gortaur asked, not looking at his assistant. - It was so simple: first, you would come to me, then we would come to him and you would say ... but what would you tell _him_? After all, in fact, you yourself do not know what you want. No, do not interrupt me. You just want everything to be as it was before. This can not be, Gwathren. I can not do this, and Melkor too can not. You want to think that not all the misery that you suffered here was in vain, and that when you agreed to work for me, you got something. I was honest with you from the very beginning. You knew what you were buying.  
Gwathren was silent. Sauron touched his blond hair with his ring-laden fingers.  
\- Think about what you will say to him, Gwathren, - Sauron repeated.  
\- Where can I find Maeglin? - Gwathren asked.  
\- His chambers are on the third floor of the Gray Tower. I’ve sent Maeglin away. Therefore, you can do whatever you want, and deal with Turgon, as you want. But you should not beat him or in any other way cause him pain and should not try to arrange a miscarriage.  
\- Are you serious?  
\- Who knows, - answered Sauron. - I know that you are capable of anything.

***

\- You're lucky again, - Nathron said. - Sauron sent Gwathren to watch over your king.  
\- Is ... he ... Turgon will not be worse for it? - asked Penlod.  
\- No, he will not. Gwathren is austere, but not evil. Therefore, I fulfilled your request and I want you to be nicer today.  
Penlod lay down on the bed obediently. Then he thought he must undress: he rose and started to unbutton his shirt.  
Nathron reached out and stroked Penlod’s soft black hair.  
\- All right, son, I was kidding, I do not need anything, - he said.

  



	7. A Game of Forfeits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turgon now knows that there's one person, who loves him very much here and now. Or, perhaps, two.
> 
> A chapter of rather unnecessary romance before the actual investigation starts:)
> 
> I claim at least a pewter medal for the weirdest dialogue ever (the one in italics:)))  
> 

After the strange visit of Sauron, Turgon dropped off in a deep slumber, haunted by strange dreams. Through his sleep, he could hear the voice of Maeglin, who was saying something, but he could not and did not want to wake up - until Maeglin touched him, Turgon could ignore the nonsense he was talking. One nightmare was particularly disgusting: his long dead, drowned wife had clung to his shoulders and pulled him under water with her. In his dream he knew that it was not her at all, - or that she was dead, which was the same. Her face was rotten, pale, small, - an _old_ face with blackened eye sockets. She was telling him something - that she needed him, that she needed his strength, that she always slept with him, even now, when she is gone...  
\- Get up, - said a high but husky voice in Sindarin.  
Turgon opened his eyes and saw a fair-haired and fragile-looking elf with a heavy cane in his hands.  
\- Who are you? - Turgon asked.  
\- You can call me Gwathren. I was sent by Gorthaur. I have to watch over you and take care of you while you are... expecting.  
It was difficult for Turgon at first to separate the reality and his visions. A strange Sinda Elf with a white face and childlike golden curls seemed to be a part of the nightmare.  
\- Do not be afraid of me, - Gwathren said. - I will not hurt you and will not make you do anything that could hurt you. Now get up.  
\- What for?  
\- It's so dirty here. - Gwathren looked around the room with disgust. - It's very dirty here. We need to make a bed, - he pointed to a bundle of sheets that he brought with him. - And you must wash yourself.  
\- No… I will not ...  
\- Get up and come with me.  
After living in Gondolin, Maeglin was used to some comfort; therefore, at his insistence, a bathroom with running water was set up in his chambers. It was also not very clean, but still it could be used. Gwathren, with his small, but strong hands, not just helped Turgon to get to the bathroom – he almost carried Turgon’s heavy body and helped him to lie down in the bathtub.  
\- Listen ... Gwathren? - Turgon asked. - Please ... may I not take off my nightgown?  
\- Well, okay, you may not take it off for the first time, - Gwathren agreed with a sigh. - Let me help you.  
Turgon remembered that when Nathron treated his hand, he at the same time cut off his hair rather short; his long black tresses turned into a tangled knot by than. Now the hair grew back; Gwathren meticulously disentangled his black locks and washed Turgon’s head. After the bath, he nevertheless forced him to put on a clean shirt and gown and changed the bedsheets.  
\- Lie down, I will not torture you any more, - said Gwathren. – Are you hungry?  
\- Perhaps - I do not know. I am so tired. So can I lie down?  
\- What a pigsty, - Gwathren repeated Sauron's words, looking around the room. –Well, I'll have to clean first.  
Gwathren began to clean up; at this time, Turgon fell asleep again, awakening for a moment only when Gwathren with a sigh, - almost a sob, - swept out from under the bed of a stump of apple.  
\- You must eat now, - Gwathren woke him. While Turgon was asleep, he managed to wash the floors and wipe some of the furniture, wash and clean the dirty dishes and throw away not only the chewed stumps of apples, but also many other things, including irreparably dirty garments lying on the floor and some broken parts of mechanisms that belonged to Maeglin.  
Gwathren placed a plate of stewed vegetables and meat before Turgon.  
Turgon tasted the food, and tears rolled to his eyes.  
\- What’s up? - Gwathren asked. - Is it too hot?  
\- No ... no ... it's just ... it's like ...  
He could not speak.  
\- Oh, well, of course, I give you, at last, a decent food, and not the garbage that Men cook in dirty pots. It looks like Maeglin can only make just this. Why didn’t his father teach him cooking? I do not understand.  
\- Because he himself was not a very good cook, probably, - Nathron said, appearing at the door.  
\- Hello again, - said Gwathren. - Should I thank you for this mission? Dirty floors, food bits under the bed, dirty shirts under the table and a sobbing pregnant Noldo. Hello, you are welcome, be at home!  
\- Well, it's true, you probably had a hard time doing this, - Nathron said with genuine sympathy, picking up his friend's cane that had fallen to the floor. - Why didn’t you call servants or slaves?  
\- You probably forgot that I do not have servants of my own, - Gwathren shrugged. - And Maeglin would go into hysterics, if I bring someone else here. You see, he did not let anyone in here. As you can see, my cleaning abilities are somewhat better than the Gondolin King’s, but I agree, this is not quite amusing.  
\- Let me send you my slave to help, - Nathron said. - He's able and strong, and perhaps your king will be pleased to talk with a former lord of Gondolin.  
\- He's not my king, - Gwathren grunted. - And who is he, I mean, your servant?  
Turgon almost dropped the plate with the remnants of food. His eyes dimmed. He felt an almost desperate desire to see someone whom he knew and loved – and in the same time, he felt the shame, he was conscious that having seen him in such condition, his friends can feel at best pity, at worst - disappointment and contempt.  
\- His name is Penlod, - replied Nathron. - He is one of the lords of the twelve Gondolin Houses. Well, he was.  
\- Hmm, - Gwathren replied. - If he is your personal servant, I think you can bring him in.  
\- Do you want me to give him to you as a present – to avoid further problems? - Nathron asked.  
\- No, I do not. You know that this is something that I can not accept. I agree to do anything Gorthaur may сharge me with, but I do not own, buy and sell Ilúvatar's children; that’s not for me. Then, why do you offer him to me, if you are having fun with him?  
\- Well, I think I've already had enough fun, - Nathron said.  
\- All right, bring him here, - Gwathren waved his hand.

***

“Penlod ..." - Turgon thought. - "Penlod ... the nicest, most harmless, the most shy and responsible of them all... The oldest, kindest friend ... what did they do it to him ... Did they do to him the same they did to me?"  
He remembered the most stupid thing he could remember at that moment. He, the king, exhausted, tired and rain-drenched after an unsuccessful hunt, literally falls on a bench by a stream, and Penlod pulls off his wet hunting boots and, despite his protests, wipes his feet with his own cloak. At once he feels warm and instantly falls asleep...  
Turgon hid his face in a pillow, - fresh, smelling of soap and a clean cloth; Gwathren changed both the pillows and pillowcases.  
\- Would you like to see Penlod here? - Gwathren asked unexpectedly. - Or is it disagreeable for you?  
Turgon was silent. Finally, he asked:  
\- Why do you ask?...  
\- I have to look after you, but I cannot attend to you all the time, from morning till night: it's really hard for me. I would be glad to have here someone who can please you and does not frighten you.  
\- Yes, but ... May I not to look at him? - Turgon asked. - I mean ... I do not want him to see me. So that I can talk to him from behind the door, so that he does not come in here. I cannot show myself to him ... I do not want to. Please.  
\- Of course you can.

***

Turgon could not believe that he would meet his friend again until he heard Penlod's voice from behind the door.  
\- Turgon? .. It's me. - Penlod hardly could pronounce his own name. - Can you hear me?  
\- Yes…  
\- How are you? - asked Penlod.  
\- Today I am as usual, - Turgon said in a hushed voice. - Thank you.  
\- You need to put on something warmer, you can not wear such an old and tattered shirt, - said Penlod. – Do you have a new one? If necessary, I can make it for you...  
\- So you've seen me…? – Turgon’s heart sank. - Did you see me?..  
\- Nathron showed me, so I ... I had to watch. If you do not want to, I will not look at you any more, I promise.  
Turgon felt a bout of incoming sickness. He doubled up, and vomited on the floor. Tears welled in his eyes. The sounds of vomiting must be heard behind the closed doors. Most of all, he wanted Penlod to leave now, or he wished that he had left a minute ago.  
Gwathren entered into Maeglin’s bedroom, looked at Turgon, and said:  
\- What’s now? Shall I let him clean it or you’d prefer to do it yourself?  
Turgon could not speak; he only silently, helplessly nodded.  
\- Clean it, - ordered Gwathren to Penlod.  
\- I'm not looking, - Penlod almost whispered.  
Turgon himself could not help but look - he saw Penlod's head, his dark hair, neck and shoulders under the collar of his shirt. He anxiously stared at Penlod’s body, looking for signs of violence and ill-treatment, but saw only the collar and the familiar old scar on his clavicle.  
\- You’ve told you can make new clothes for him; does it mean you can sew? - Gwathren asked.  
\- I know how to sew, - said Penlod, - but I can hardly cut out the fabric.  
\- It's all right, Nathron will take care of this, just let him take his measurments.

***

Nathron made a few dress patterns for shirts and dressing gowns, and Penlod started to sew. He also had to clean the floor and do the washing. Turgon talked to him but little. He was grateful for the care, but every time he put on a shirt, specially tailored to fit his distorted body, he was tormented and angry, and Penlod, too, was an object of his anger, because he made the thing.  
Penlod did his best not to look at Turgon; only a few times, accidentally his eyes fell on the bed, mostly when the king slept, and he saw his face - heavy-eyed, pale, unusually timid and confused.  
So passed a week or more.

***  
Penlod once again washed the floor and dishes; at this time, Gwathren changed the bed. Gwathren looked out the window and said:  
\- I need to go out. Behave yourself. - He smiled at Penlod and threw a strange look at Turgon.  
Penlod sat down to sew a shirt for Turgon next to his bed; he still tried not to look at the king, although of course, at least for a moment, he saw him, and Turgon knew it. Turgon covered his head with a blanket, and he could see only Penlod’s thin fingers, adroitly moving the needle and shifting the cloth. Penlod finished a seam, bent down to bite off the thread and they saw each other face to face.  
\- I am sorry. - He looked away and stared at the sewing.  
\- But you did see me anyway - look, than, - Turgon threw back the blanket.  
\- If it makes you feel uncomfortable, I will not, - Penlod repeated once more.  
\- Does this mean that everyone has to look at me? - Turgon continued. - Tell me.  
\- No ... not all. I told you, it was Nathron who brought me here.  
\- So you asked for it? - Turgon could not understand why his heart was dying within him. - You wanted to see me?  
\- No ... He wanted to scare me, to show what can happen ... I did not even know that you were alive. I've been grieving for you all this time ... very much... - Penlod paused.  
Turgon was not at all consoled by the fact that Penlod lamented him: he thought that Penlod grieved over his king, and may be not at all sorry for the person he now turned into.  
\- What did he want from you? - Turgon asked.  
\- He wanted me to... lie with him. By my free will.  
Penlod terribly wanted to look at Turgon, but now he could only see Turgon’s slightly swollen hands with the tail of his eye.  
\- Really? Nobody asked my permission, for that matter.  
Penlod felt that he could hardly breathe. His own fingers did not obey him; he scratched the palm of his hand with a needle. He knew he was saying something quite out of place, very irrelevant - but what could be relevant?  
\- Were you immediately told why they need you? How were you...? – Penlod’s voice died; he wanted to ask, "How did you survive" or "how you were captured," but grew numb. He thought that he should try to talk about something else, but Turgon spoke:  
\- Not at once ... First days ... weeks ... there were some... people who ... just forced me... Many times. I stopped counting. Then Sauron took me away from them and brought me here, to Maeglin... and then he made me...  
Turgon wanted to say something else, but Penlod could not stand it any more: he got up and without a sound ran out of the room.

***

He ran somewhere, not seeing the stairs, corridors, bumping into some figures - probably Men, Elves, orcs - he could not see. Finally, he was seized by a big door, hit, knocked to the floor, hit again.  
\- Where are you running, you scum? Whose slave are you?  
Penlod could not speak, and did not know what to say. He forgot everything, he was deprived of the gift of speech; If he could at least say something, then he would say:  
“I'm alive - but how to live on? How?”  
\- Wait, he is Nathron's slave, - someone said.  
\- Are you sure?  
\- Yes, I saw him a couple of times; such a tall Noldo, there is no mistaking him.  
\- Shall I call Nathron?  
\- No, I would not have dared to call him here without a good reason.  
The one who recognized Penlod - a short, redheaded Man – helped the Elf to get on his feet and said:  
\- I'll take him to Nathron. Look, there's the collar on him; he could not have thought of escape in any way. Maybe he's just lost his way. In any case – it’s none of our business.  
Nathron thanked the guard, agreed with his conjecture - yes, probably, Penlod lost his way - and sent away, not forgetting to reward him.  
Now Penlod was in Sauron’s quarters, where the Ainu received supplicants and allies; the owner himself was not here at that moment. The orange-gold upholstery on the walls reminded the Elf of his own House in Gondolin, but everything else was completely different. Items lying on shelves and in cabinets along the walls were ugly and strange: a black-crimson fused lump of stone, from which protruded a black skull of an inconceivable creature, a stuffed animal with horns and long black fangs; a stone irradiating a strange green glow: it seemed to Penlod that the stone, like the Silmarils, held its own light - but it was the light of something very uncanny. Nathron was in full dress - in a long red garment, lined with black fur, although the room, lit by its large fireplace, was warm.  
\- Why did you run? - Nathron asked in a muffled voice. - Where did you run?  
For the first time in many years in the service of Sauron, Nathron was frightened. He thought he had allowed too much to Penlod and that he himself might be in trouble. Nathron took off his belt his riding crop, and struck Penlod with all his might, knocking him off his feet. Penlod barely managed to cover his face. Penlod became disaccustomed to pain; he writhed on the stone floor, instinctively trying to avoid new blows.  
\- Sort out your slave in your own room, - Penlod heard Sauron's cold voice.  
Nathron immediately stopped and walked away from Penlod.  
Sauron turned Penlod over on his back, kicking him with the metal toe of his black boot.  
\- Why are you not in the Maeglin’s room? You care for Turgon now, don’t you?  
\- I ... left ... - said Penlod.  
\- Is anyone there? - Sauron asked.  
\- Gwathren. He is always there.  
Finally, the ability to reason returned to him, and he decided that it would not do Turgon good, if he now informed Sauron that Gwathren went out, and Turgon was left alone.  
\- Why did you go away?  
Penlod was silent.  
\- Did something upset you? – Sauron inquired with an unexpected kindness.  
\- Yes, - said Penlod. Sauron knew Turgon's fate only too well, and the answer could not hurt the king - in the worst case, Penlod would not be allowed to see Turgon any more, but that could have happened anyway. - He told me how ... what they did to him after taking the city. I could not stand it. Turgon is not to blame for my conduct.  
\- I understand, - said Sauron. - And what did you do there?  
\- I was sewing, - Penlod said hoarsely. He finally realized that he was still clutching the details of the shirt in his hand.  
\- Well, keep sewing, than. - Sauron opened a part of the casket with medical supplies, where the needles and threads lay.  
Sauron and Nathron went to the window.  
-I do not understand why he ran away, - Nathron said, biting his lip. - Why could he escape at all? Wouldn’t the collar?..  
\- Because when Turgon told him about how he was raped, the collar, apparently, just broke - well, I call it so: although it is still in its place, it stopped working. It just happens, Nathron, it's not your fault. On the one hand, the collar suppresses mental powers, makes an Elf more vulnerable to tortures and restrains his (or her) _feä_. On the other, strangely enough, a strong emotional shock can partially or completely break it; I’ve already had a couple of such cases. It should be a very strong fright, horror, shock, call it whatever you want – and not for oneself, but for someone else. Remember what they tell about Fëanor? Hearing about the death of his father, “with a cry he ran from the Ring of Doom and fled into the night, distraught – and now they feared that he might slay himself”. I was not there, but that's it. I even have a strange idea that my collars imitate the influence of the Valar on a soul (not all Valar, perhaps only Manwë and Melkor), and that Fëanor was able to leave Valinor precisely because he experienced a shock that broke his connection to Manwë. I wonder what Melkor thinks about it, but I will not ask him, since he, unfortunately, very rarely can clearly explain how he is doing something.  
\- Perhaps, then ... Nathron should not go back to Turgon any more? - Nathron asked.  
\- Well, why? Turgon is a guarantee that he will never try to escape again, - Sauron smiled. - And by the way, Nathron, I'll tell you a secret – just in case: the collars do not work on Gwathren, either. So don’t get any ideas. By the way, here he is.  
\- Ah, there you are, - Gwathren said. - Are you sewing? It's good.  
The blonde Sinda took the shirt from Penlod’s hands.  
\- Come on with me, - he said, - the sleeves are in Turgon’s room.  
When they went to Maeglin's rooms and passed several floors, Gwathren stopped him; it seemed to Penlod that this was at the very place where Nathron had him for the first time.  
\- Do you, - Gwathren asked, - do you already look down on your king?  
Gwathren took the sewing from him. Penlod looked attentively at his evil light eyes, and for a moment it seemed to him that Gwathren had no eyes at all, and he was looking in the mirror; it was a strange and revolting feeling.  
\- No, - said Penlod. - I just…  
\- I need a frank answer, Penlod. I am responsible for Turgon’s health, and your flight hurt him. I want to know if you are able to attend on him further. If not, I'll find someone else.  
\- I'm ready to serve him till my last breath, - Penlod said. - It's just that ... it hurts too much.  
\- I thought so. Let's go.

***  
Turgon did not realize how important Penlod was for him, how much he wanted to see him, talk to him, just hear and feel him - until he ran out of the room. He did not understand how much alive he felt in the last days - until Penlod left, and took away the last of his life from him.  
"Why, why did I tell him," the king thought desperately, "why? Now he despises me ... even the lowest slave would not want to wait for me ... talk to me ... A whore ... A pregnant whore".  
For some reason, he felt with an astonishing force now that on their last evening together on the wall of Gondolin, Penlod, recalling their first meeting, the happy years of peaceful friendship, wanted to tell him not only about their bond of friendship but also about his secret and hopeless love. He tried to convey to Turgon his feelings - devotion, tenderness, worship... All this was now over. They both should better die.  
At least he can and must die.  
If he tried to throw himself out of the window, someone might notice; after all, now he may not be able to push himself through the narrow frame.  
A rope, then.  
Turgon took the belt from the gown that Gwathren had brought him. In the corner of the room, a hook was hammered into the wall, on which Maeglin hung up his armor. Turgon’s body was now heavy, but the hook must hold. His height was an obstacle, too, but he could tie the noose higher.  
Tears rolled down his face; holding the belt, he stopped and looked out the window, saw a white moon, a dark blue sky and dark shadows of snow on the frame.  
\- _Turgon, stop_ , - someone said.  
There was no one in the room.  
\- _Turgon, do not do it_ , - said the same quiet, strange voice in Sindarin. - _Do not die ._ To his horror, Turgon understood: it was Ëol’s voice.  
At first, he thought that a ghost appeared to him, called to life by Gorthaur's powers, but then his legs gave way and he collapsed onto the bed. The voice came from within his body, penetrating into his consciousness. The child he was carrying was indeed Maeglin's father.  
_\- Turgon, please do not_ , - Ëol said. - _Listen to me. I was against it all from the very beginning. I did not want it. I still do not want to live in this world again. If you really do not want me to be reborn, I can help you. I know herbs that can kill an unborn child or cause a miscarriage; if there are no such herbs here, I know mineral substances that seem harmless by themselves, and you can ask Maeglin or Gorthaur to bring them to you as ointments, paints or fragrances, but I can help you to prepare from them a concoction that will kill me. It's another thing what Maeglin may do to you when he finds out that you killed me a second time - but that will not concern me anymore; I will die. I hated you and others like you, hated your people not only on the last day of my life, but many years before that, but now I ask you - do not die ._  
_\- Are you really there?_ \- Turgon asked mentally, still not believing. - _Do you hear my thoughts?.. Do you hear everything I hear and see?_  
_\- Not really..._ \- Ëol answered. - _I can hear and feel if you strongly suffer or very pleased; I guess, this happens to every child in the womb of the mother. Now you are hurt so much that it hurts me. I feel sorry for you. And I feel really sorry for your friend. Do not do this to him. If you kill yourself, it will be an agony for him._  
\- _He left ... he left immediately, as soon as he found out ... Penlod despises me ..._ \- Turgon complained to the voice inside him. - _Now he ... I lost everything ... I lost it ... all because of that ... because I did this to you._  
\- _Turgon, why do you think about him so badly? He loves you. Who would not be upset, finding out that his beloved was hurt so much? Have pity on him. I know, Gorthaur said many things to you. Sometimes you just scream about it inside, and I hear it. But do you really believe him? I am older than you are. Much older. Neither a city nor a kingdom can be destroyed because of one person – because of Maeglin: this happens only in legends and ballads. In one way or another, everyone is to blame. You survived. If you want to blame yourself - consider that having survived the violence, carrying a child by someone you hate - you have redeemed your guilt. Now you have to withstand all this, to survive and get out of here. You can. Especially since someone loves you here and now. Probably not even one "someone", but..._  
It seemed to Turgon that Ëol squeezed his hand.  
\- _What are you talking about?_ \- Turgon asked, puzzled.  
\- _Your body knows more than your mind, Turgon. Therefore I know, too..._

***  
The door swung open and Gwathren almost ran into the room.  
\- Are you all right? It's so dark here ... Where's Penlod?  
Gwathren lit a big candle, and Turgon saw his bewildered face.  
\- He ... he ran away. He left from ... from here. We quarreled, - Turgon replied. - I told him about how I got here, and about ... well, I told him everything.  
\- How could he have escaped?! - Gwathren exclaimed. - Although... Well, I'll find him right now.  
Gwathren again gazed out the window and left Maeglin's quarters, not forgetting to lock the door behind him. Turgon involuntarily looked at the place where he stood; he got out of bed and looked in the same direction as Gwathren had been looking a few hours ago before he left - and where he was looking now. In the window Turgon could see a tower, the same as the one in which Maeglin lived; in the tower there was the same narrow window. There was a bright light, and Turgon saw for a moment a frightened girl's face in the window.  
Three months ago, when he had only recovered from the Maeglin’s mistreatment, he looked out the window for a long time, gazing at the bright autumn sky, waiting for something unknown – for salvation or a sign? The sky was empty, and he remembered well that in the rooms opposite too, were empty.  
Where did she come from?  
How could it happen? 

***  
\- Well, - said Gwathren, - I'm returning you your friend. Do not hurt him anymore, and he will not run away.  
Turgon lay on the bed; it was already quite dark. Gwathren lit the lamps and said:  
\- I'll go and make your dinner. You can read to him now, Penlod.  
\- Sauron told me to do my sewing, - Penlod said mechanically.  
\- Even Thuringwethil couldn’t put on the thing you are sewing – it’s a total mess! - Gwathren laughed. He handed to Penlod an old book that lay on Maeglin's desk and went out.  
Penlod opened the book and stared for a few minutes at the miniatures portraying yellow roots and flowers, looking at the lines written in an ugly but pompous hand with a lot of flourishes, and could not read a word.  
Turgon was already used to looking for traces of violence on Penlod’s body and now he saw with pain traces of lashes on his hands, wrists and neck. He realized that he had been punished for running away.  
\- Penlod ... - said Turgon, - Penlod...  
\- Yes, - he answered.  
And then he said something he didn’t want:  
\- Now you think badly of me ...  
\- No, not at all!...  
Turgon wanted that Penlod sympathized with him - and at the same time he was angry. He was angry partly because he knew Penlod did not experience the same horror as himself, partly... he did not know why.  
\- You must have realized now that I'm no longer the Turgon you knew? That I am no longer the same proud Turucáno of old, whom you could respect and love? Perhaps you think that if Maeglin will suddenly have a fit of generosity, your master and you will may allowed to have me, too? You wanted this for a long time, didn’t you? Now you perhaps look at me and think, how you could...  
\- No ... - Penlod clenched his fists and almost tore the book, - I ... I ... for me you will always ... be pure, innocent, good ... always, always. You are the best that was and is in my life. I could never wish you anything bad, never. I ... the most that I ever wanted ... was just ...  
Penlod grew calmer, fell silent, and they said at the same time:  
\- ... Do you think I'll let you? Never! – Turgon said.  
\- ... I just wanted to kiss you, and ... – Penlod said.  
Both were silent again.  
Turgon immediately repented of his words. In fact, he knew that it was ridiculous to be afraid of Penlod, that Penlod would never do him any harm. He just wanted at least somehow to express his feelings of humiliation and hopeless despair, this sense of worthlessness - and he could do this only with someone who (he knew it) did not consider him worthless.  
Moreover, Turgon realized that in fact he could feel almost happy if he were hugged and kissed now.  
He had to say something now in order not to push Penlod away, and asked hastily:  
\- And what is the "and"?  
\- No ... nothing ... I’m sorry ... - Penlod blushed deeply. – By the “kiss” I meant "kiss" on the cheeks or on the forehead, nothing bad...  
\- Well, all the same, what is it - "and"?  
Penlod looked so embarrassed that Turgon thought is was a little funny. In fact, the King liked to tease his relatives and friends a little (he always did it very harmlessly), but he rarely had this opportunity.  
\- Stop it, - Penlod was completely taken aback. He again wanted to escape, this time not from pain, but from embarrassment. - You said - "never", so I'll never mention this again.  
\- And what if "never" was only about the "kiss" – “kiss on the cheeks”, as you say, and the "and" is possible, what then? And perhaps, it is possible just now, but there will not be another time. Penlod?..  
\- I already did it yesterday when you were sleeping, - Penlod said.  
Turgon was now very much confused himself; he could not say anything, just ran his hand through Penlod’s hair.  
They laughed together, embarrassed, loving each other, bowing their heads to each other, their foreheads and noses almost touching, as they did at their last meeting in private in Gondolin.  
\- Then, all the more, - Turgon finally answered, - I allow; do it!  
Penlod recoiled from him, and, kneeling at the foot of the bed, kissed his naked foot, then the other. Unable to cope with the excitement, he hid his face in the bedsheets.  
Such a warm and pleasant feeling Turgon had not experienced for a long time. He remembered how someone, ill-disposed towards Penlod (Salgant, perhaps) said that Penlod admired Turgon so much, that he even kissed the feet of his statues. Then Turgon dismissed this as a lame joke, but now he thought it could be true, especially if Penlod had been dreaming of it for so long.  
\- I think, someone saw you once kissing my statue's feet, is it true? - Turgon asked.  
\- Do you dislike it? - Penlod asked in a hollow voice, not taking his face off the bed. - Yes... sometimes I did it, forgive me...  
\- No, of course not, there's nothing wrong with that, - Turgon replied, himself, however, not very sure of his own words.  
... At home, in a small room overlooking the terrace, Penlod set up a statue of Turgon. At his request, the king was represented in a hunting dress and soft leather boots, sitting on a bench, tired and relaxed, in his thin gold diadem. In those days when Penlod was unable to meet Turgon in person, he remained before sunset in this room and when the night fell on the city, he silently kissed the marble boots...  
\- Penlod, you are probably hungry too? You may have your dinner with Turgon, - Gwathren called. Penlod stood up hastily and grabbed the book. 

***  
The next day, Nathron came and asked Penlod to do something in his room. Penlod was a little afraid that he would again rebuke or beat him, but Nathron seemed to have forgotten everything that happened yesterday.  
\- Gwathren, - Turgon said to his jailer. - While there is no one here... I want to tell you something.  
Turgon looked up at him, and Gwathren involuntarily recoiled: before him was a king again.  
\- Gwathren, this service assignment may be boring for you. If you want, you can lie with me. I will not tell anyone.  
\- Why would you want this? - asked Gwathren, confused. - Do you think that this may be an insult to Maeglin, or...  
But in fact Gwathren immediately realized - why. He saw how Turgon and Penlod looked at each other yesterday, saw Penlod kneeling respectfully in front of the king’s bed - and realized that Turgon wanted to destroy, to break this newly born tenderness, respect, reverence immediately. He wouldn’t wait, while Maeglin returns, not to be tormented then even stronger.  
He looked at Turgon with compassion.  
\- No, I will not do this.  
\- Why? - Turgon asked. - Because I'm expecting a baby? Or are you afraid of Maeglin?  
\- No, - Gwathren replied, - I just do not want to. I understand you: you want to reward me with something, but you have nothing else but your own body. Apparently, rewarding people for service and good deeds is the last royal habit you still have, Turgon. You need to part with it.  
Turgon lay on the bed and looked on the floor. He saw Gwathren’s embroidered green boots on high steel heels. Turgon paused and then turned to him:  
\- Tell me, Gwathren, did you ever love anyone?  
\- Will my answer to your question change your situation? - answered Gwathren.  
\- No, - Turgon closed his eyes. - Of course not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "with a cry he ran from the Ring of Doom..." - The History of Middle-Earth, Vol. 10 (Morgoth's Ring), p. 294-295.  
> 


	8. On Caskets and Locks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turgon and Penlod both have a look at the Silmarils in Morgoth's crown.  
> Both have their own suspicions.  
> After discovering the truth about his brother, Turgon is genuinely shocked and his life and live of the child is in danger...

Penlod was reading to Turgon aloud. The King already fell asleep, but Penlod continued the reading mechanically. The book, which he nearly destroyed in anxiety the other day, was a long and very incoherent treatise in Quenya about the plants and minerals of Beleriand. The author was an Elf who apparently wrote his work without ever leaving Nargothrond and dumped into this book everything he had ever heard from Dwarves and Men. The margins were scribbled all over with Cirth runes. Penlod saw in astonishment that these clumsy and rather illiterate notes (like: _krap! rubish!_ ) were left by Ëol, who, like Penlod himself, was of low opinion about this composition.  
Penlod froze, hearing footsteps behind the door; he knew it before the door opened - it was Maeglin.  
\- He received me, he received me personally, in his own chambers, do you hear me, Nathron? - Maeglin said. His voice sounded tired and somehow cracked. – Our Master honored me with a conversation.  
Maeglin entered; he looked down at Penlod (at least, he tried: when Penlod stood up, Maeglin was more than a head shorter).  
\- Do you serve my uncle like you used to - kissing his hands and feet? - Maeglin asked. He glanced again at Penlod, saw the collar, and continued more boldly: - You're healthy, we need workers.  
Gwathren entered the room.  
\- We do not need you anymore, - Maeglin waved his hand dismissively.  
\- What? - Gwatren asked.  
\- We do not need you anymore, you can go.  
\- What? - Gwathren repeated.  
Maeglin was embarrassed.  
\- I mean, you may not look after my uncle anymore ... well, Penlod can, of course, stay, the clothes and all else must be cleaned...  
Penlod was disgusted to hear even his own name, uttered by Maeglin.  
\- Listen, Maeglin, - said Gwathren. - Gorthaur ordered me to look after Turgon for all the term of his pregnancy. Since Turgon does not come out of your bedroom - I have to look after him in your bedroom and in the bathroom, too, by the way. The Master promised you to fulfill your desire - Gorthaur did it. Gorthaur now considers himself obliged to keep an eye on how it works out. If you are against this, then you must go to the Master and complain to him that your wishes are not being satisfied in the way you want. I do not exclude the possibility that he will attend to your request, but I would first have talked with Gorthaur, if I were in your place.  
Nathron looked into the room (he was told that Maeglin was back). He looked anxiously at Turgon and Penlod. He exchanged glances with Gwathren; it was clear that this meant "Shall I go to Gorthaur?" Gwatren shook his head imperceptibly.  
Maeglin pursed his lips.  
\- I'm not so sure that my wishes are being fulfilled. After all, I wanted my father to be reborn. I can certainly see the belly, but I'm not at all sure that my father will be born as a result. Of course, Mairon showed him - his spirit - to me ... - Penlod noted to himself that Maeglin now constantly refers to Sauron by his original name.  
\- What did he show you? - Nathron asked.  
\- He showed me the ghost of my father; but I'm not sure…  
Turgon opened his eyes.  
\- Penlod, do we still have this book about plants? - he asked suddenly.  
\- Yes, - said Penlod.  
\- Open page thirty-fifth and read the note that is written above.  
\- _A growing moon, the seventh day_ , - Penlod read, - _red dawn, snowfall, frost month_ .  
\- Maeglin, - said Turgon softly and almost affectionately, - do not you remember? It's the weather on the day of your birth. Your father wrote it down here. No one but you two knew about this.  
Maeglin blushed; it seemed to Penlod that he gasped for breath.  
\- No ... it cannot be. You're lying to me. You cannot know this. You cannot. You just guessed it because it's a date - a day... You just guessed. It can not be!..  
He jumped up from his chair. Penlod almost felt pity for him when he saw Maeglin looking around, looking into his eyes, Gwatrhen’s, Nathron’s, - but he could not see any signs of deception or conspiracy against him. For everyone Turgon’s words were just as unexpected. Gwathren only smiled and spread his hands in bewilderment; Nathron gloomily and steadfastly looked at Maeglin.  
\- There are other dates here, - Penlod said at last, - for example, on the last page is written: _the waning moon, eighth day, rain month, rainfall, hail._ This is not the only one date in this book.  
\- Is it true ... did you hear my father’s voice? - asked Maeglin. - I was told that sometimes it happens, especially when the future child is a reborn one...  
\- I would not say that this was a very pleasant experience for me, Maeglin, - Turgon replied, - but yes, I’ve heard him.  
Maeglin snatched the book from Penlod and left.  
\- Well, do as you wish, - he said. – If you have to look after him, do it.  
To Penlod’s amazement, Maeglin not only did not try to banish Gwathren from his quarters any more, but also stayed in the hall for night, even though Gwathren was in the bedroom. Penlod himself lay down on the floor (Nathron left immediately after this conversation, leaving him no orders).  
Maeglin leaned from the bed down towards Penlod, and told him in a low whisper, as if they were good friends:  
\- Do not be surprised; I was told here that after Gwathren had been in Mairon’s dungeons, he can do nothing, you know what I mean, that’s why I allowed him to stay in the bedroom. By the way, Penlod, our Master granted me a great favor, of which you, and especially my uncle, could only dream. You'll see tomorrow.

***  
The next day, Maeglin partly regained his former self-confidence; he entered the bedroom, looked at Turgon and asked:  
\- Does he have a good dress?  
\- Why is this one bad? Gwathren asked.  
\- We need clothes in which he can walk around the castle.  
\- Yes, there are.  
Gwathren reached into a chest and took out a set of clothes Penlod and Turgon had not seen before: a long blue robe made of warm cloth and a long cloak. Nathron made it all himself for Turgon just for such a case.  
\- Get dressed, - Maeglin said. – The Master said that we can go and see his crown and the Silmarils.  
\- No, Maeglin, spare me this, please, - said Turgon.  
\- Well ... of course I can go without you, but ... - Maeglin hesitated, and Turgon realized that in fact Maeglin wanted to demonstrate the Silmarils not to him but to his father Ëol.  
Strangely enough, Ëol was of the same opinion.  
_I want to! I want to see them! I must!_ \- Ëol screamed (if one can call it that), so Turgon pressed his fingers to his temples and shook his head.  
\- What happened to you?  
\- N-Nothing ... just a headache. Okay, I agree ...  
\- Does Melkor want to see Turgon? - Said Gwathren.  
\- I said "the crown" and had in mind what I said, - Maeglin replied petulantly. - Today the crown of Melkor is in Mairon’s laboratories. I have a key. We can go there, have a closer look and even touch the Silmarils.  
\- I believed _he_ never takes off the crown, - Penlod said.  
\- Mairon sometimes takes the crown for a short while to learn more about the properties of these stones, - Maeglin said, and added, lowering his voice, - and to try to heal Melkor's hands.  
\- If so, then go out, your uncle needs to change, - Gwathren said.  
Penlod and Gwathren began to help Turgon change clothes. The garment, it must be admitted, was beautifully cut and almost concealed from a viewer’s eyes Turgon’s “interesting” condition, while somehow giving him a more feminine appearance; from a distance one could think he was an exceptionally tall girl.  
\- He must put another shirt under this dress, the castle's corridors and staircases between the towers are very cold, - Gwatren said. - Yes, faster, faster, come on! - he shouted at Penlod.  
\- Are you in such a hurry to oblige Maeglin? - Turgon asked.  
Gwathren smiled maliciously.  
\- We need to arrange this sooner, while Maeglin not yet realized how dangerous it is, - the blond Elf said in a whisper. - He earnestly believes that he is the only clever one for all times, while the walls of Angband and the grounds of Utumno stand, and that when he told his Master something like: "so shall I come to Mairon to look at the crown? "- he made an incredibly clever move. Do you think that before him no one tried to play on the disagreements between Melkor and Mairon? Do you think Thuringwethil lost her skin for nothing? Most probably Mairon will not do anything bad to you, Turgon - at least until the accouchement, - but he does not really like Maeglin, and if he appears in his laboratory without permission... I really want to see this. An angry Mairon sometimes acts very unpredictably.  
\- I see you do not like Maeglin very much, - Penlod ventured.  
Gwathren shrugged his shoulders.  
\- I do not like him, - Gwathren admitted. - Although I sometimes feel sorry for him. But more often I want Mairon just to kill him. And the worst thing that you can wish for him, Penlod, is that he really closely mingles with Melkor, because, to be honest, I can not think of anything worse than that. Turgon, and the main thing: do not touch anything there, except for the crown, - Gorthaur will find out anyway.  
\- Do you think I may take the Silmarils in my hands? - Turgon asked hesitantly.  
Gwathren waved his hand carelessly.  
\- Ah, nothing will happen to you, of course, you can.  
He flung open the door and called Maeglin.  
Maeglin wanted to go along with Turgon, but it looked so comical that he decided to go ahead, and Turgon with a smile leaned on Penlod's hand: Maeglin allowed Penlod to go with them.

***  
Nathron allowed Maeglin to enter Sauron's laboratory, although not without some doubts. He stood in the hallway and explained something to two middle-aged Men in red; Penlod remembered that among the servants of Sauron military doctors dressed like this. Once in the Sauron’s office, Maeglin somehow stealthily ran to the back wall. To the right of the fireplace there was a small door, painted in a very dark red, almost black. Maeglin opened it with his key and invited Turgon and Penlod to come down.  
Penlod, carefully supporting Turgon by arm and waist, helped him to go down twenty high steps. It was cold down there. Maeglin opened another door and they came in a brightly lit small room. On the walls, bright crystal lamps glowed white and blue; as Maeglin explained, some kind of underground gas burned in them. On the shelves and in high cabinets, instruments, lenses, small machines and lathes, scales, and various glass vessels were placed in an ideal order. Precious crystals and bright minerals, as Turgon understood with astonishment, were classified into two collections that duplicated each other: one was arranged by colors – a blue to a blue, a yellow to a yellow, with all the fine gradations of hues. In another collection, the stones were placed by their chemical composition. Turgon was never particularly interested in jewelry and, reading labels on individual samples, he marveled that such different jewels could consist of the same substances and differ only by colors. Turgon and Penlod in spite of their age and experience were awed by this embarrassment of riches; both thought that Fëanor would be delighted with this workshop.  
There was something on the desk that shone brighter than lights and all the jewels in the room.  
\- There, - Maeglin said.  
The round casket rayed lights of all the imaginable colors; its crystal surfaces blazed with scarlet, blue, purple, and green, reflecting on the walls and ceiling and on the pale face of Turgon. Both of them, and Penlod and Turgon, have not seen the Silmarils since Fëanor wore them on shortly before his fatal quarrel with his brother. Maeglin touched the casket; his fingers ran through the crystal branches and berries, and the casket opened.  
Strangely, Melkor's crown, in which there were now only two Silmarils, lay in a casket turned upside down. Maeglin took it out, and Turgon saw two hollows in the bottom of the casket.  
Maeglin showed the crown to Turgon, holding it out to his uncle. Turgon did not move. He did not want to take this thing into his hands.  
_Turgon_ , - he heard Ëol’s weak but insistent voice. - _let’s take a closer look. Oh please. Take them. Touch them... ..._  
Penlod saw Turgon's graceful fingers trembling, touching the cold metal of the crown: it seemed that its mirror surface even grew misted over with the touch of Turgon’s hot hands. Turgon touched with his middle finger first one stone, then another. He felt no burning, no heat, nothing; he ran his fingernail along the edges, then pressed his finger-pad against the surface. He had a strange and even repulsive feeling: it seemed to him that if pressed a little harder, the iridescent surface would give way, like a cartilage or a membrane in a living body.  
Turgon carefully placed the crown on the table and looked at Maeglin, as if asking: "What now?"  
Penlod leaned over and looked at the crown; Turgon saw Penlod squinting and peering intently at the empty, scratched hollow that used to hold the third Silmaril, which was now in the hands of Elwing, the granddaughter of Lúthien, somewhere far away, in Sirion’s Havens, on the ocean shore.  
\- Well, - Maeglin, embarrassed, put the crown back in the casket. - I must see the Master again now, and Nathron will show you the way back.  
Turgon looked around. It seemed that the two stones beheld him, like two large iridescent eyes, like two stars, suddenly moving too close.  
"Gorthaur already knows now that I came here", Turgon thought.  
Maeglin slammed the crystal cover.

*** 

Gwathren was sitting in Maeglin's rooms and reading the ill-fated treatise.  
\- A complete crap indeed, - he said, addressing everyone. - Ëol was right. However, this is perhaps the only text that contains a description of the poison that killed Maeglin's mother.  
\- Do you think Ëol read about it in this book? - Turgon asked, sitting on the bed with a sigh.  
\- I don’t think so. Judging by what I know about this incident (you, of course, know more), the plant’s description, like almost everything here, is wrong, and this book would not be of much help. I do not think that Ëol read about the poison here, but of course he bought the book because of its content, because there are many rare things described in it, although in most cases incorrectly.  
\- Look... I'm worried about one thing, - Penlod said, looking at Turgon in bewilderment. - Why are the stones – the crown - in this crystal box? This is not the casket of the Silmarils.  
\- What's the difference? - Turgon shrugged.  
\- Maybe _he_ could not carry the casket with him? - Nathron asked.  
\- They say that the Enemy took with him a lot of jewelry, which he then had to give Ungolianth to devour. That Silmarils’ casket, which I saw, was quite heavy, but could not be much heavier than they could be, - answered Penlod. - And why take a fragile crystal box, if there is a casket?  
\- I do not understand why are you so sure it's another casket, - Turgon observed. - You could have mistaken it, or ...  
\- No, - said Penlod. Now he finally decided to say what he thought, got up in excitement and went up to Turgon, bending forward to him, leaning against the back of the bed. - What you saw was a crystal chest that was locked with a secret mechanism - first one, then four simultaneous clicks on the lid in certain places. I know this because it also belonged to Fëanor and was a part of his treasury. The casket that contained the Silmarils was locked with a key. With a key, you know? This key remained with Maedhros and until very recently, as far as I know, he had it.  
Turgon frowned, musing; then he looked at Penlod, and not only Penlod, but Nathron was surprised at how livid his face had become.  
\- Describe this casket, - Turgon said. – The casket and the lock.  
\- Have you not seen it?  
\- Penlod, if I ask you, it means I have not seen this casket. Do you indeed believe that Fëanor would show the sons of Nolofinwë, where and how he kept his most precious jewel?  
\- It was kind of wooden; it was like wood, but I never actually took it in my hands. It was greenish-brown, with swirls; the casket was bound with silver. I know that the lock was very complicated and it was impossible to open the box without a key. I'm not sure that inside the casket was also wooden - maybe there was some metal inside. At least I saw that the Silmarils may shine through an ordinary wood (this looked very strange, I can not even describe it); they were not visible through this casket.  
\- And what about the lock? - continued Turgon.  
\- It was big and made of silver: on it, there were the Trees, on its top there was the coat of arms of Finwë - the star with sixteen beams, beneath it - the coat of arms of Fëanor. Under the Trees stood Tata and Tatië, the ancestors of the Noldor...  
\- …In diamond crowns, - Turgon finished. - They joined their hands, and there was the key hole between their palms.  
\- Well, you see, you saw it, - said Penlod, somewhat calmer.  
\- I saw _the lock_ , - Turgon said. – The lock only.  
\- The lock without the casket? - Gwathren asked.  
\- Yes, I saw the lock without the casket, and I’ve seen it not in Valinor, but here in Beleriand, and not in Morgoth's or Gorthaur’s treasury, - Turgon replied.  
\- I do not understand, - said Penlod, in confusion. - Where did you see it, than?  
\- Now I understand everything. Only now. - Even Nathron was frightened by the aloofness and disgust in his voice. - And you, Penlod, could see it. It was such ... such ... I do not know, Pengolod called them some kind of word, I forgot it. A handbag for all kinds of writing paraphernalia, a leather one – you can keep a pen, inkwell, tablets or parchment for writing in it – a satchel, that’s the word. A small book-satchel. You saw it, Penlod. You saw, as my brother Findecáno placed it in our father's sarcophagus.  
\- Well, you do not mean to say that Findecáno had a lock from the casket with the Silmarils, don't you? - Penlod asked, perplexed. - Did you see it in that bag for sure?  
\- Yes, I saw the satchel open long before that. There was this lock and some letters and papers.  
\- And how can you explain that your brother had this lock? - Gwathren asked.  
\- Maybe he was somehow framed up, so he... - Penlod began.  
\- Penlod, don't you see that _all_ this was a frame-up? - Turgon interrupted him in a low voice, ringing with anger. – All of this. Fëanor simply killed his father so that we all moved to Middle-earth. He did not want to obey anyone. He was in the league with with Melkor from the very beginning. He himself gave to Melkor the stones.  
Penlod decided that Turgon had gone mad after all the horrors he went through. Of course, he could not blame him for this, but he had to respond something at the absurd allegations put forward by Turgon, and he realized that he could not reply straight off. Of course, it was possible to repeat once again what everyone knew: "Fëanor valued his father more than life". But now, when five hundred years have passed since Finwë's murder, Penlod realized that a creation of Eru, whether he or she was an Elf or a Man, was able to kill even the one he loved very much.  
\- Turucáno, - Penlod finally said, very slowly, - but Morgoth eventually killed Fëanor himself. How can you say that there was some kind of ... a conspiracy between them?  
\- How do I know what went wrong between them later? - Turgon replied calmly.  
\- Look, Penlod, - said Nathron, - Fëanor died of wounds inflicted by the Balrogs. Everyone knows this. Melkor at this time was trying to recover from Ungolianth’s attack. Melkor very probably could not himself give an order to kill Fëanor. In addition, we know that Melkor is the Deceiver. He could lie to Fëanor and promise him something very important in return for the stones. Even if Melkor himself killed him, this does not rule out a conspiracy.  
Penlod sank to a chair, exhausted. Why did he started all this? He looked around: Nathron, an interested but indifferent viewer, an impenetrable Gwatren with his smooth face and glassy eyes, an embittered and alien Turgon. How can they all say _such_ things - things that not just hurt, but take away faith and trust in loved ones?!  
\- Turgon, please consider this: Fëanor was not in Formenos, when Finwë died. Even if he really had an agreement with Melkor, how could he have given him the Silmarils that he left back in the iron chamber of his fortress? Why did he not give him the casket?  
\- So what? - Turgon answered. - He could have ordered his children to do it. They all obeyed him unquestioningly and carried out his most insane requests. You know this better than I do.  
Penlod thought that now he was going crazy himself.  
\- Look ... I've seen the sons of Fëanor bringing the news of Finwë's death. I’ve heard their story. They were all hunting together near the fortress. Then they’ve returned to Formenos and saw that Finwë was no more. It's impossible…  
\- I did not hear their story, - Turgon replied bitterly. - I was at home. My daughter was born recently. I was at home with my family. I have no doubt that their story was very convincing, but the fact that they were not at home, and that all the time, while they were not at home, they all were together, - we only know from their own words.  
\- Well, how do you explain the lock in your brother's possession then? - Gwathren asked.  
\- It's very simple - since my brother was sleeping with him... with Maedhros, he asked my brother to cover them up and hide the broken casket. I do not know how and why did it happen. However, without Maedhros his brothers could not do it, they always obeyed him - obeyed the same way as their father. I always suspected something like that. Or it was my brother who broke the casket to please his beloved.  
Penlod could not understand how Turgon could talk so about his brother - calmly, in passing, with strangers. This, obviously, embarrassed even Nathron, as he leaned heavily toward Turgon, pressing his hand on the bed.  
\- Turgon, - Nathron said, - I have a question for you. It seems to me that you think that already by virtue of the fact that one man is in love with another man, they are both capable of murder, isn't it? Or to hide a murder - just because of this?  
Turgon lowered his head. He weaved his fingers again and again, thrusting his nails them into his palms so that the knuckles were white. Then he said, not addressing to anyone:  
\- I think it's immoral. It's appalling.  
\- And you have nothing to do with this, do you? - Nathron asked.  
\- Yes, - answered Turgon. - When I found out about it, I stopped talking to him.  
\- With whom? With Findecáno? - asked Penlod. - When? But I saw you both talking at Fingolfin’s tomb ...  
\- That's exactly what you saw, - Turgon replied. - Only when others could see us. We did not speak a word to one another when we were alone. Never. From the time Maedhros gave the crown to our father. I know since then. My father believed that my brother would come to his senses with time and... did nothing. But I could at least do this. Maybe my brother would tell me about... the lock and everything else if we were talking to each other. But we were not.  
\- What a sweet brotherly love! I am melting, - Nathron said. - It would be great for you, and for all of us, if your sister loved women as well. I wish she were dragged into the woods by a girl, not by Ëol.  
Nathorn and Gwathren laughed; Penlod felt that he himself is ready to burst into a hysterical laughter.  
\- Findecáno would do anything for Maedhros, - Turgon said. – If he asked him to come and…  
\- It's all very interesting, son of Nolofinwë. - They heard a deep, penetrating voice. – But it seems to me, there are two notable gaps in your reasoning.

***  
Sauron stood in the doorway; his red hair shimmered with the flames in the fireplace and the gleams of rubies on his black clothes.  
\- First, - he continued, - your brother's affair with Maedhros began only here, in Beleriand, and even if Fingon was in love with him before that, he would hardly have gone to such extremes for him, and Maedhros hardly turned to him with such a request. Secondly - and this is essential - Fëanor was killed not by a balrog, but by me.  
Penlod was extremely surprised: if this was so, why did Sauron never boast of having killed the king of the Noldor? But Turgon, apparently, was worried by something else.  
\- How do you know when the affair actually commenced? - he asked.  
\- Well, I know, that's it, - Sauron answered.  
\- What do you mean by "that's it?" You're just trying to muddy the waters. Maybe I'm the only one who noticed how they looked at each other, but I saw that it's ... abnormal, and that it started long before the Exile of Noldor.  
\- What a strange story with this casket, - said Sauron. - I would like to know more about this, and, Turgon, I am interested in what you can say to me. In exchange for it, I, too, can tell you something: I know for sure that your brother first slept with Maedhros only after he saved him - because your brother himself told me about it.  
\- He would not have say a word to you, - said Penlod, mustering all his courage. Yes, Turgon was his king, his lord, after all - the most beloved creature in the world, but he could no longer hear the name of Fingon slandered. – He would never do that. Not to mention Maedhros.  
\- Oh, you naive darlings, - Gorthaur said with a laugh, - but how do you think, at whose request did I start to figure out how to achieve a pregnancy in the male body? With whom did I have a mutually interesting agreement? Who could not sleep with anyone but the copper-haired, what’s-his-number-again, Finwë? Yes, Turgon, I asked your brother for how long he was in love with the future father of his child, and he answered me. Our brave little Findecáno very bravely produced the heir to the throne of his father with my help, but he did not think at all that such operations now can be performed on someone else, and that on this example ...  
\- Ahhh!!!...  
Turgon jumped out of bed, and it seemed to Penlod that his scream would blow the frames out. Penlod did not remember much of what happened after. Turgon, it seems, threw a chair at Gwathren and Nathron, then another; Gwathren fell on Nathron, then a bedside table flew by, and both of them simply rushed out of the room. Penlod himself was on the floor, the bed tumbled down on him. Turgon’s rage was an extremely rare thing to behold: in the presence of Penlod, this happened literally once or twice (it seemed to Penlod that even the last attack on the city did not really off-balance him too much), but when it happened, no one would like to be around.  
\- Stop it! Stop it now! Sauron cried, and it seemed to Penlod that a wave of heat embraced him. - Shut up! Stop it! You can’t just do this!  
Penlod got out from under the bed, stepping over the pieces of glassware, fragments of furniture, and saw that Gorthaur held Turgon by the arms; his head was tilted back helplessly. He saw with horror, as on a trampled sheet on which they stood, a bloody stain was creeping.  
\- What are you standing there for? - Gorthaur shouted at him. - Turn the bed, help me lay him down. Nathron! Bring me immediately the large silver casket from my chambers! Immediately, do you hear?  
Penlod turned the bed in a moment, put back the mattress to it; together they laid Turgon down. Penlod felt the blood on his fingers.  
"He will now die... pass away ... he will miscarry and die ... what it is... Oh please…"  
Penlod did not know whom and what he was asking for. Now, probably, only Sauron could help.  
\- Water! - Sauron opened a small locker nailed to the wall by the window and took out a bottle from it. - Well, at least I was smart enough to keep it here, that’s good ...  
"He's right," Turgon thought. "Gorthaur is right." _I can’t just do this_. What happened, happened..."  
He took a deep breath and tried to pull himself together - both morally and physically.  
_\- Ëol_ ... - he asked mentally, not being sure that he was being heard. - _Ëol... please forgive me. Forgive me again. Do not leave me. Do not. I will try to be a good parent to you ... well, at least try just to become a parent; I will try to give you your life back. I just felt very bad ... It will not happen anymore, really. Ëol? ..._  
Gorthaur poured a cupful of the tart liquid into his mouth.  
_\- You hate me_ , - replied the dark Elf finally. - _You hate me, you could never love me when I was alive, could not become my friend, even if I agreed to stay in your damned city. Turgon, why should I now stay ... with you?_  
_\- Ëol ..._ \- thought Turgon. - _Ëol... The truth is that now I hate everyone. Since I left Valinor, I’ve lost my family, my homeland, everything that was dear to me. You probably think that I'm very bad if you heard and felt all I was thinking about my brother... I know this all sounds... ugly. But Ëol, please understand: for me what my brother did then... to become a lover of one of Fëanor's sons... it was like... like another way to take my family and home from me. Therefore, I’ve preferred to take my sister - she was the last that was left for me... to take my sister and flee away... Do not leave me..._  
"Forty-two, forty-three, forty-four," Sauron counted aloud. "Sixty-five, sixty-six ..." Having counted drops to a hundred, he forced Turgon to drink another portion of a bitter drink.  
_\- Are you ready to put up with me?_ \- asked Ëol. - _Are you no longer angry?_  
_\- Of course I am_ , - thought Turgon. - _Of course. I cannot say I love you, but I really want you to remain a part of my family. Please, Ëol.._.  
_\- I love you a little, you know_ , - said Ëol to him almost affectionately. - _Just do not tell anyone. Someone will die of jealousy._  
Turgon smiled faintly.  
\- Ah, you’ve got it, - said Sauron to Nathron. - We need to take this ...  
Nathron, exausted, went out the door. He helped Gwathren, who was sitting on the floor, clasping his hands, to stand up.  
\- Gwai, how are you?  
\- I’ve got a blow with a chair on my head... oh...  
\- Shall I tell Gorthaur?  
\- Perhaps... although I would wait until he comes out. But I do feel unwell.  
Nathron picked up Gwathren’s cane and gave it to him, then sat him in a chair.  
Penlod walked out into the corridor, pale, with his hair wet and glossy with sweat; he threw a bunch of bloodstained linen into a corner where the garbage from Maeglin's chambers was usually left.  
\- What is going on? - asked Nathron.  
\- Now ... now there is no longer any danger, - Penlod answered in a shaky voice.  
\- Gorthaur apparently did not expect that he would throw such a tantrum, - Nathron shook his head. - How could he...  
\- Nathron, put yourself in his place. Now, if you knew that all this, - all the torments, pain, shame, all these weeks and months of pregnancy - all this might not have happened, if it were not for your own brother? - said Penlod bitterly. - And everything else... this whole story with a casket... I do not believe what Turgon says, but... but I also feel uneasy.  
\- I did not understand what he was talking about, - Nathron said. - Nonsense. Caskets, locks, papers...  
\- Oh, no, Nath, it all makes perfect sense, - Gwathren sighed, - and I'm willing to bet that Gorthaur now wants to talk about this with Maedhros.

  



	9. Congratulations, you are a winner!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ëol acts as an expert before being born, Penlod finds a mysterious book - and Turgon becomes a mother... with some unexpected consequences.

It was at that moment that Maeglin returned. He wanted to go to his chambers, but Nathron held him back.  
\- Wait, son; Turgon is unwell, you can not go there.  
\- I am not your son I am a Noldor Prince and the Prince of Gondolin! - exclaimed Maeglin, trying to break away.  
\- Well, you are not my son - lucky me! - Nathron said grimly. - Perhaps, Ëol was also lucky? I'd like to know who got your mother pregnant when she was roaming in the forests. She probably was too shy to admit to her brothers who was the real father of a freak like you.  
\- Prince of what? - said Gwathren contemptuously. The Prince of the Tomb of Fingolfin and of a heap of burnt bricks? Fortune smiles on you, indeed!  
The reaction of Maeglin to these words confirmed Nathron's bad opinion of him, because he did not attack him - Nathron was much higher and obviously stronger - but Gwathren, trying to throw him on the floor together with the chair. However, Gwathren with unexpected force met him with a powerful blow of his cane in the chest, causing Maeglin to fall back. He was about to rush back to Gwathren when Sauron appeared from Maeglin’s quarters.  
\- What happened here? - asked Maeglin.  
\- A threatened miscarriage, - Sauron replied. - Now, perhaps, not any more, but of course, I was expecting this eventually.  
\- Why did not you take an action in advance?  
\- Where would you get an idea like that? - Sauron answered with a question. - Why did you bring a Finwë's grandson to look at the damned stones? What did you expect? Now sit tight and shut up. 

Nathron and Gwathren exchanged glances, but of course, neither now nor later did anyone intend to inform Maeglin that the Turgon's ailment was not due to the sight of the Silmarils, but to the fact that Sauron had told him such a thing about his brother Fingon. If Gwathren hoped that Sauron would become angry with Maeglin because he had intruded into his laboratory, now these hopes were all the more justified: Sauron was clearly in a rage, and not only because Melkor gave Maeglin the keys to his private chambers, but also because of his own mistake. He wanted to boast about his performances before the powerless Elven king, but he did not consider that Turgon might nearly die because of his unhappy remark.  
\- This... curly blond fellow hit me, - Maeglin said, rubbing his chest. -Your servants are so impudent. They’ve insulted me.  
\- How? -asked Sauron, and the two Elves repeated their words with pleasure.  
\- Tut-tut, how bad. Nathron, I order you, in punishment, to embroider, for Prince Maeglin, a battle banner with the device "Prince of the burnt bricks". And you, Maeglin, I advise (at the moment I still only advise, I am very tired of you) to pack your things and get out of these rooms away. At least, before the accouchement. If you indeed want to get back your father.  
\- Where should I go? - Maeglin answered.  
\- Get away. Keep right on walking till Varda's brightest star. Just opposite there are the storerooms for old armour and weapons, you can settle there.  
\- I ... it's not my fault, - Maeglin exclaimed, addressing to no one, - you're ...  
\- You are the only Elf whose stay in my chambers I remember without pleasure, - Sauron said. - Even torturing you was not exciting at all. Nathron, if you have even a feeling that Turgon is unwell, call me immediately. Gwathren, this applies to you, too. Order the same to Penlod.  
\- I'll just collect the books and the tools, - said Maeglin.  
\- Give me back the keys to my office and laboratory, please, - Sauron added. - Both keys. By the way, you must also return the books. You evidently do not need books.  
Maeglin, his hands trembling, rummaged in the purse on his belt, in his pockets; he took out the keys, and Sauron, without waiting, tore off his keys from the bundle, so that the ring on which they hung was broken to pieces and other keys scattered on the floor.  
\- And the tools, too? - Maeglin asked, gathering up the scattered keys and other things.  
\- You can work on your ass with your tools, if you want, - said Sauron contemptuously. - You've already forgotten how to work, Maeglin. Perhaps our Master is fascinated by your rich inner world: unsatisfied ambitions, filthy desires, envy, hatred - for him all this sparkles like diamonds, and smells like lilies. But I, my sweet Maeglin, - the voice in which Sauron uttered it, froze even Gwathren's insides - I took in my service a blacksmith and metalworker, and not a lascivious scum. Nathron, at sunset you must come to me and report.  
With that, Sauron left. Gwathren, with a sigh of relief, winked at Penlod, as if saying: "Remember what I've told you"?  
Nathron adjusted the pillow and covered Turgon with a second blanket - he was pale and shivering.  
\- Well,- Nathron began, - it's weird ... I just want to know... just being curious... Did you really hear Ëol’s voice? Did he really talk to you?  
\- Yes, he did, - the king replied wearily.  
\- Ah ... but what do the other dates in the manuscript mean, do you know? - Nathron asked suddenly.  
\- No, - answered Turgon. - I ... talked to him only two or three times ... and just now, too. I decided that I needed to learn something from him that would help me protect myself from Maeglin. It was useful.  
\- Why did he even start talking to you? - asked Nathron. Turgon looked at him attentively.  
\- You will not tell Penlod? - he asked softly.  
\- No, never. Answer me. Only me, please.  
\- I wanted to kill myself, - Turgon said. - Ëol asked me not to. I did not, as you can see.  
Penlod came into the room with a pack of clean linen in his hands.  
\- Maeglin says that he will now live in the rooms opposite, - said Penlod.  
\- He's a scum, indeed, - Nathron said. - He stayed here for only two days before turning to our side.  
\- And what about you? - Turgon asked.  
\- I came to Gorthaur myself, - said the Avari. No one made me do it. I decided for myself on whose side I am.  
\- Do you think you would withstand torture? - said Turgon.  
\- I do not think anything. Your nephew only needed an excuse. He was not really tortured. For others, I made stitches by hundreds and healed cuts and wounds by dozens. Generally speaking...  
\- All right, - Gwathren said, entering. -You do not need to talk about such unpleasant subjects, it's not the place. 

***

Entering the room, Maeglin approached the head of the Turgon's bed. He squatted awkwardly and said:  
\- Get well soon. I want to say ... even if you are deceiving me about my father, I do not care ... still I will be happy. - He wanted to say something like “happy because of our child"- but he could not: it would seem ridiculous.  
Maeglin squeezed Turgon's weak hand, perhaps eager to touch, even indirectly, his son. Then he got up and left. Turgon heard Maeglin's irritated voice, packing his things and giving orders to Penlod. 

Only now Maeglin actually realized that he had no more friends and relations in the whole world: Aredhel (mentally he always called his mother by name, just like Ëol himself), his Uncle Fingon, his grandfather Fingolfin, his father - they all gave their lives for someone, including him. Now he almost killed Turgon - killed him again, because Maeglin could not help seeing that much of him had already died forever after the demise of Gondolin. Maeglin sank on the floor in the storeroom, feeling weak and tired. He thought that he was doomed to feel like a child for the rest of his life. It seemed to him that these months before the storming of the city and after it, when Turgon was at his disposal, were the only opportunity he had to become an adult, to arrange his life for himself, to do _something_ , - and now he was again put on his place. He was reminded who he is. He himself could not understand why he treated Turgon so ill. Yes, there was some physical pleasure, but there was no sense of satisfaction after that. Maeglin tried to convey to Sauron his thoughts, his ideas about purity, chastity, innocence – the Ainu did not understand. When Sauron brought Turgon to him, Maeglin was infuriated by the fact that King came to him already tortured, filthy, and humiliated. Maeglin wanted Turgon to continue to live in the moral and physical filth, but by doing this, he always hurt himself, reminding himself that he did not get what he wanted. On that day he ought to come to the King's Tower in person, he had to find Turgon, he had to capture him himself, but he could not. Maeglin was able to survive the Battle of the Countless tears, but that summer day, when he saw the walls of his native city collapsing, the water hissing and boiling in fragrant fountains, the howling breath of a dragon turning those he knew for many years into black skeletons - he was numb with terror. He spent most of the day, huddled in the corner of the Iron gates made by him. Nobody was looking for him - he was no longer needed ...  
The truth was that Maeglin did not know whom he loved more - Idril or Turgon.   
Maeglin remembered the moment when Turgon told him not to come to breakfast again. Many Noldor dined with the king; at breakfast, there were only Turgon, Idril and Maeglin, sometimes - Ecthelion, Pengolod or Penlod; the other Noldor came but rarely. Turgon tried to explain to him gently that Idril did not like his presence any more. Then his uncle with his long white fingers laid on his saucer a hefty, lovely walnut cake. The sugar crystals on the cake sparkled brightly like little stars. Turgon tried to comfort his nephew like a small child. Maeglin sat at the table and cried, desperately cried. Turgon's white housedress embroidered with silver, the white courtyard of his house outside the window, the now familiar silverware - everything melted into a flickering fog before Maeglin's eyes. He cried because he knew he would never see Turgon again like this, at the table in a half-buttoned shirt and with loose hair. Once he dared to climb the staircase that led from the dining room to the king's bedroom - into a small, white, almost virginal boudoir with simple furniture and an unusual window: the lattices encrusted with mother of pearl and the windowpanes where the glass shimmered in an iridescent, opal glow, sometimes flashing with rosy sparks. Maeglin have not seen such a glass before or after. How would he wish that the previous months were remembered as a time of happiness, cosiness, and affection ...  
Maeglin took a green apple from his pocket and threw it into the wall. It split and fell somewhere in the oily filth amid all the junk in the storeroom. 

***

For the night Penlod was left alone with Turgon. Turgon was told not to get out of bed for three more days - until Gorthaur allowed it. Penlod asked for permission to comb and braid his hair (Turgon himself was still very weak). Turgon, half-asleep, answered - "yes".  
Turgon woke up and looked at his friend; Penlod felt a strange cold deep inside; his heart sank, feeling both tenderness and pain. He lowered the comb and gently touched Turgon’s hair, his cheeks, his forehead. He remembered that Turgon had not allowed kissing him, but now this fleeting, innocent touch seemed to both of them to be a sign of forbidden sympathy.  
\- You must be sorry that I did not die. -Turgon said.  
\- Why? No, of course, no!  
\- You are suffering for me ... and you're ashamed of me. I know...  
\- Turgon, - said Penlod almost whispering, - you are dear to me, I am happy to see you alive... If you only wanted yourself to finish your existence...  
Penlod thought reluctantly: could he, like once Fingon, Turgon's brother, even try to stop the torments of his beloved?  
\- Yes, - Penlod gathered himself up and continued, - I can be sorry about this, only if you wanted to put an end to everything and meet those whom you loved...  
Penlod thought about it so often, that now he said more than he wanted.  
\- No, - Turgon answered. He shook his head slightly; his dark, shiny hair scattered on the pillow. - No ... you know, now ... now it's over. It's all over. After what happened to me, I will never be able to meet my wife. I cannot look to her eyes. I just cannot. I cannot say that I'm not able to love any more, but ... Now everything is ended. When we just begun our life in Gondolin, I often thought that my city should be standing forever. I rebuilt Tirion and gave back my people happiness and hope for the future. Then my faith began to dissolve. After my father and brother were gone, I realized that I could only postpone death and desolation - day after day, then another day, then another... You see... I thought that the longer I lived, the longer I was infinitely lonely and lost, the longer I was separated from those who were dear to me, - the longer my children, my people, the inhabitants of Gondolin, would be happy. Now I am alone forever - wherever I am.  
Penlod was silent, pressing Turgons hand to his lips. 

*** 

In the early morning Turgon opened his eyes. He heard a quiet sniffling - Penlod had a restless sleep lying on the floor next to his bed. Turgon turned his head to the window. Everything was covered with snow, only far away a yellow flame in the tower opposite was flickering. Probably, the golden-haired girl has already woken up.  
_\- Turgon_ , - he heard Ëol’s voice, - _are you there? How are you?_  
_\- Thank you, I am well_ , - answered Turgon. - _I'm very grateful to you, really. I hope, you are well, too._  
_\- Gwathren feeds you wonderful meals_ , - said Ëol. - _It ... it feels nice. I do not know how to say. And by the way,_ slyly, as Turgon thought, inquired the dark Elf, - _why don’t you ask, what impression did the work of your uncle Fëanor made on me?_  
_\- So you could ... feel them?_  
_\- Yes_ ,- replied Ëol, - _thanks to you - you looked at the stones so attentively and even touched so I was able to assess them._  
_\- And how do you like them?_ \- asked Turgon. In his thoughts there was bitterness, which he did not wanted Ëol to fully feel.  
Ëol’s answer surprised him so much that if he had not been lying on the bed, he probably would have to sit down.  
_\- I'm not sure what Fëanor has to do with the gems that are inserted into the crown of Morgoth, -_ \- answered Ëol.  
_\- Can you recognize a work of Fëanor? -_ Turgon asked.  
_\- I've studied some objects created by Fëanor. I've seen some ornaments of your sister. I also had a piece of his elder son's armour; I forgot the name... Maedhros, yes. After Morgoth captured Maedhros, the armour became a trophy and later was sold apiece; there was a signature of Fëanor in it. These gems are strange. If they were made by Fëanor, then he was not alone._  
_\- Of course_ \- Turgon was ill at ease, but he tried to find a rational explanation. - _He was helped by his sons ... maybe by Penlod's brother or someone else_..  
_\- There ... there is a lot from Gorthaur ,_ \- said Ëol. - _Of course, it can be, because he made the crown itself, but still... and, Turgon, I really do not like what they're made of. Light... the light inside is amazing by itself, I understand you, Calaquendi, that you are so boastful that you were immersed in it this light for ages. But the shell itself... the shell... I worked with many materials... the weirdest ingredients, but..._

Ëol paused. Turgon was about to breathe a sigh of relief, but then he heard Ëols voice quite low, thin, begging.  
So he had never addressed him:  
_\- Mommy ..._  
_\- Yes, dear_? - Turgon thought - carefully, caringly, as he would have thought of his grandson.  
_\- Mommy, I'm even afraid to think what they made of.  
_ _\- Do not be afraid ,_ \- Turgon said affectionately. - _Do not be afraid, child. We will not go there any more. Let's sleep again?_

Feeling the child's inaudible consent, Turgon put his head on the pillow and fell asleep again. In the months that remained until the end of the term, Penlod, deep in his heart, admitted to himself that he was happy. He was happy every minute he could spend with Turgon, was happy that he could be of use to him, to provide him with at least a minimum of comfort and conveniences. At least for the sake of him it was possible and necessary to stay alive. One day Nathron sent Penlod to Sauron: he had to return the books that he had borrowed from his book collection to read to Turgon. Sauron was just reading something in his library, sketching something, and writing it on a writing-board. He nodded to Penlod and asked:  
\- How is your king?  
\- He's well.  
\- Okay. There is about a week left, let's have patience, - Sauron smiled, as Penlod thought, almost good-naturedly.  
Among the books, that Sauron gave him last time, along with some interesting, from the point of view of Penlod, treatises on paints and production of glass and two rather boring collections of ballads in Sindarin there was a dictionary of Quenya. At first, Penlod was surprised at this: first, how one can read a dictionary from cover to cover, and secondly, why would Turgon need a dictionary of Quenya - his native language? However, after reading a few pages, Penlod changed his mind. This book could indeed be read from cover to cover: the definitions given by the author of the dictionary were incredibly clear, witty, and sometimes funny. For each word, several examples were cited: there were not only annals and poems, but also proverbs, sayings, puns, some everyday expressions: many of them Penlod had not heard since leaving Valinor. Penlod was fascinated already by the description of the first word, _aha,_ "rage":  
  
"The word _aha_ is rarely used nowadays, because unlike other words related to the notion of anger or irritation, such as _ormë_ or _rusë ,_ it supposes a certain prior consideration both in the choice of the moment, and in the choice of the object of the application of anger, as well as some righteousness of this anger.  
_Rusë_ , on the contrary, assumes an internal bitterness, often partial, and _ormë_ a reckless and senseless rage.  
A curious example is the name of the third son of Fëanor, _Tyelc-ormo:_ the first part means "fast", and the second part can be explained as "angry, impetuous", although others interpret it as "the one who rises". In any case, there is no question of any prior consideration".   
  
On second thought, Penlod decided not to read the dictionary to Turgon, fearing that the book would bring him sad memories. Although Penlod read a lot, he was almost sure that he had never read anything written by the author of this book before: his style and an easy and friendly tone were very identifiable, and he certainly would remember his name. The dictionary was brought to only half - just before the letter _ng ,_ "ngoldo" , with which the word "Noldo" began. In this book, there was another oddity - the handwriting: Penlod guessed that the copyist himself did not speak Quenya, or, at any rate, he or she did not learn to write at a school where that language was taught. Now, looking at a paper on Sauron's desk, he realized that the whole book was written in Sauron's hand. \- May I ask... - Penlod began.  
\- I do not have the second volume with me right now, - Sauron replied at once.  
\- There's no author ... and I think I've never heard of him, - said Penlod.  
\- No one will ever hear anything about many Elves who were here, - the Ainu answered dryly.  
In the mind of Penlod, there was some eerie certainty that the author of the book could not physically pick up the pen, and Sauron was writing it down until... until ... No, better not to think about this.  
\- Gorthaur... - Penlod took courage, - can you tell me what will happen to Turgon later? What does Maeglin want? What will you do with him?  
\- Well, what can I tell you? Sauron leaned back in his chair, took off his diadem and threw back his red curls. - Nothing good. Initially, Maeglin wanted Turgon to bring him back both his parents. With Ëol, it seems to be working, but I'm not at all certain that the same can happen with Aredhel. I called Ëol's spirit, and besides, I gave Turgon a piece of a magic doll, in which his spirit, as far I could see, was confined. Aredhel would not want to be reborn, especially here in Middle-Earth. I expected that Maeglin would try again one or two times, and then he would understand that nothing would come of it. Of course, Maeglin should not have forced Turgon to become pregnant immediately after the rape and his head injury, but at least I could keep my word and do what I’ve promised. Turgon's health now is fine: if he rests at least for three or four months, we can think about the next child. I do not really know what Maeglin originally intended to do with Turgon after that – to let him raise the children or put him to death, as Turgon himself did with Ëol. Now, my dear lord of the House of the Silvery Bushes... the Emerald Rushes... oh yes, it's the Tower of Snow, phew, what a name - it's different. The Elves are immortal; Fëanor's mother Míriel, as we know, died not because of the number of her children, but because Fëanor himself was somehow, um, atypical. It means that all this childbearing fun can be repeated, say, every year and a half. Melkor, you see, suggested to Maeglin a plan to continue the family line endlessly, and populate the ruins of Gondolin by a tribe of the descendants of Maeglin.  
Penlod was paralysed with shock.  
\- The plan itself is good, - Sauron continued. – There’s a lot of things I do not like about orcs, and the tame Noldor are my dream; the ones captured in combat still adapt very poorly to our conditions. I still like the idea, but the execution, a breed of Maeglins... count me out. Well, at least I left to Turgon his male organs, so I can somehow use this on later stages, I guess.  
\- What a horror, - Penlod said unwillingly.  
\- I totally agree, - Sauron nodded. - Just imagine what bitches their daughters will be - if there will be daughters. Particularly if there will be twenty-five or even thirty of them. Melkor, apparently, does not care; he is not interested in women, but what about me? Penlod pressed his back against the wall. He did not know where to go. It started in the morning. Now the summer day was on the wane. Some time ago, he heard a scream and moans for the first time. He could not bear the thought that his beloved was screaming in pain, but there was nothing to be done, and it was also impossible to save Turgon from the torment. The heart of Penlod was breaking; he thought that it would be better for Turgon to die now - he was afraid that he would not be able to save him from further abuse. Nevertheless, at the same time he desperately wanted him to survive. Finally, he heard the baby crying. Penlod understood that until now he really could not believe in everything that was happening - in Turgon's pregnancy, in Ëol, in childbirth, and at first, he could not even understand what kind of sound it was.  
Penlod clenched his fists, gathered himself up and returned to the room. Actually, no one forbade him to be there - he simply could not stand it. Turgon was on the bed, moaning; he tore with his fingers the sweat-soaked, blood-stained shirt that he, Penlod, had recently made.  
\- All right, all right, - said Nathron, trembling, - okay, calm down, it's all over already.  
Turgon again screamed desperately. Penlod went up to him, stood at the head of the bed and took his hand.  
\- It's all over now, it's all over, - Penlod whispered. Sauron burst out laughing and leaned toward them.  
\- You should not think so, my darlings,- because we need one more little effort.  
Penlod turned away from the spectacle that his mind could not comprehend; he buried his face in Turgon's trembling palm, felt a convulsive tremor running through the king's body; then Turgon exclaimed:  
\- What on earth is going on?!!  
\- Don’t you understand that there are two of them? Oh, my lovely king! - Gorthaur laughed again; he ran his hand over his forehead, tied with a kerchief, - there remained a blood stain. - Another twins in the Finwë's family, just charming! That's why Ive found this so interesting. I've noticed that, Nathron, when you brought me here, complaining about Maeglin. Otherwise, I would not come here day and night.  
\- But ... but ... if that's so - Penlod again had the courage to address to Sauron, - which one is Ëol? Who of them spoke with Turgon?  
Sauron shrugged his shoulders.  
\- Well, when they grow up - we find out; earlier it’s unlikely, they are quite the same.  
\- Judging by ... by what I know about twins, - groaned Turgon, - they will be able to tell each other so much, that you will not know which one of them is who if they do not want to. Turgon looked at Penlod, and he realized with surprise that the king was smiling. Sauron laughed again.  
\- At first, I thought they were indeed Ëol and Aredhel, although it would contradict the laws and nature of the Eldar, as I understand it. Then I realized that they were two boys, and it became even more curious, - he admitted.  
\- You know, Ulfang told me that an Easterling tribe had a custom to kill twins of different genders - for adultery and their mother - for complicity, - Gwathren said.  
\- Why? - Turgon asked in horror.  
\- They believe that two beings of different sex, having been in one small room for several months, just must commit adultery. That’s how Men are, - the blond Elf sighed. \- Look, - Nathron stopped Sauron in the corridor at the door of the room, - that’s what you’ve told Turgon, but in fact you do know which one is Ëol, don’t you?  
\- I do not think it's necessary to find out, Nathron, - said Gwathren, taking him by the sleeve. Gorthaur sighed.  
\- Technically, Nathron, they are both Ëols. You, Elves, attach too much importance to the soul and everything connected with it. However, the soul is attached to the body, lives in it and is its continuation. When twins are born - identical twins, as in this case (the same was the case with the twin sons of Fëanor, I think) - this is, in fact, one foetus, which splits in two. So is here: even if physically they are two, it is the same person in two different bodies.  
\- Oh, - Gwathren shook his head, does Maeglin have two fathers now? Did he really want this? As I understand, Ëol was an austere parent in his lifetime, and if there are indeed two of them?.. I'll go tell him, - he concluded, not without malicious joy.


	10. His Last Trump Card

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Penlod now declare his love - or is it too dangerous? Can Turgon endure a meeting with Melkor?

  


_...never in Valinor would Turgon greet him...  
The Grey Annals, § 243_

Penlod knew that Turgon should have been allowed to get out of bed now; he was not in his chambers for almost a week. During all these weeks and months, Penlod got used to Turgons strange appearance, pallor, swollen hands and feet, helpless expression.  
The change struck him. Turgon was standing by the window; the other tower could be seen on another side of the room, but beyond this window was only an endless, scorched, gray mist over the valley. Turgon wore an old gray dressing gown and combed his hair with a bone comb.  
He looked at Penlod and smiled.  
\- I really missed you, - he said in such a familiar and composed voice. It was very embarrassing for Penlod to think so, but for a brief moment he wished to see Turgon frightened and suffering again, just to hear a feeling in his voice. But he immediately realized that in fact the king was not so calm. Penlod was even was a little scared, because he understood how much he changed: behind this easiness, behind the shine of his kind gray eyes there was something new and unfamiliar to him.  
\- Well, what about you? - said Turgon, putting the comb aside. \- Nathron sent you new clothes, - said Penlod.  
Turgon took off his robe and tried on the new attire: a blue-green long dress embroidered with stars. He girded the belt on his now thin waist. Turgon became slenderer, than Penlod remembered lately, he seemed youthfully graceful: he was the prince, whom Penlod had met in Tirion, a black-browed youth with bright gray eyes, delicate, slim, with a bright white skin. Despite his stature, he seemed so vulnerable and defenseless.  
"Well ... what will become of him now ... is it really going to start again?" - Penlod thought with horror. \- Nathron says it's possible to visit you again now... - began Penlod. But I am afraid, we probably will not see each other often anymore - there's no reason for this.  
He could not ask, but Turgon told him himself:  
\- Sauron asked Maeglin not to come near me for at least next three or four months. What will happen next - I do not know. Turgon ran his hand through his hair. He looked to the window at the mist-covered stones and gray sand. From the sand here and there stuck out bones and whole carcasses - vertebrae, limbs, skulls, - mostly skeletons of some weird creatures. Penlod could not understand what he was looking at so closely, then halted, realizing that Turgon was not looking at anything. He wanted to throw himself out of the window - down on these stones.  
\- You see... - Turgon began, but fell silent.  
\- Turucáno ... - said Penlod. He could not stand it anymore. - Turucáno... Turincë... - so affectionately he dared to call him earlier only in a dreams, only in the sweet, painful dreams that began to come to him (after so many years of love and worship) only there, in Gondolin, after he took off his king's shoes. - Forgive me. Forgive me please.  
\- For what? What did you do? ...  
\- Sorry. I'm sorry, I love you. I love you. You know... I understand, you hate my love, you dont want to feel it as if I put some kind of bond on you in addition to everything that torments you, but I love you insanely, I bow to you, I'm not just your friend - I'm your slave, servant, call it what you want. I know I lost my mind.  
Penlod leaned against the windowsill, it became difficult for him to breathe.  
\- I know, - he continued, - if I were your friend, now I would have to help you die, I should tell you to order me, and... Perhaps you want this. But I'm in love, I am a lover who can not hurt you the slightest. I heard a ballad about a man who allowed himself to be executed when he was tied up with just one hair of his lover. And I can not damage you by a hair...  
He could not speak any more. Turgon lowered his eyes, then looked at him. His look was a little baffled, but affectionate.  
\- I love you... Turincë... I do not know why and how it happened, but I love you from our first encounter, at the first sight, I never dreamed of anyone else but you... You are thinking right now that I am immoral, I know. You'll never accept my love its impossible. I have no right to love you...  
\- Why not? - Turgon answered. - Of course you have.  
And now he himself kissed Penlod. Penlod felt he was crying and the next moment happened something that was impossible: he pressed his lips to his king's lips, he closed his eyes, and he kissed, stroking his soft black locks, the warm nape and neck. His beloved embraced him and also kissed him desperately in turn.  
When they stopped, Penlod did not know for a while where he was; before his eyes there was a mist of tears and delight. It seemed to Penlod that he would now die of happiness. At the same time, kissing Turgon again, he felt something extraordinary, strange, as if he was being carried away into some kind of whirlpool, helpless, powerless, or as if he had been wounded, an artery was severed, and all his blood, all his strength, his whole life was passed on to Turgon; a dizzying feeling of weakness and at the same time excruciating white heat, hot like a hearth. Penlod suddenly realized with shame and amazement that this is what a husband and a wife should feel to each other; that this is the heat of mutual conjugal love, which has nothing to do with weddings, flowers, bridal necklaces and all the rest. Something turned upside down in him, and he felt that there was no return.  
\- My beloved... - said Penlod, gasping for breath, - forever... My only beloved... How can that be?  
\- I do not know. - Turgon buried his face in Penlods shoulder, his voice was dull, - I do not know. It's strange, yes; I think that if this change happened to me, then, probably, there must someone in the world for the female half of my nature, and this someone is you. If you were meant for me, then you ought to be here with me. Probably so.  
Penlod himself marveled at this strange logic; if he had to accept this, it turned out that when he fell in love with Turgon - and that was incredibly long ago, hundreds of years ago - a part of his soul must have known that someday Turgon would, at least partly, become a woman. However, if because of this Turgon allowed to kiss him like that - Penlod was ready to accept any explanation.  
They spent most of their time together kissing each other or holding hands; only occasionally they allowed themselves a few chaste touches. Penlod never demanded more and did not dream about it. But he was happy.  
As for Turgon, his thoughts were still gloomy. Although they tried to be discreet, but Turgon was almost certain that Gwathren knew about the romance, and did not know what he could do about it.  
  
***  
\- Could you look after the children for a while? - Gwathren asked one morning. - They just sleep, you do not have to do anything.  
Fat chance! The children began to cry desperately, and Turgon had to take them in his arms. After those few times he was talking with Ëol during the pregnancy, touching his consciousness and memory, Turgon learned to respect him. Deep in his heart, Turgon was grateful for his help. Now, when Ëol was no longer with him, these two tiny creatures seemed completely alien to him - at least, until the time when children grow up and remember who they were. It could take many years. He saw them no more often than once a day. Sometimes he went into Maeglin's room, looked at them, but he did not want to see them at all. More precisely, he did not want to love them, but as the time passed by, the more difficult it was to restrain his parental love. Turgon himself felt that the children wanted to be with him; he even believed that they missed him, and he knew that they immediately stop crying when he took the twins in his arms. Now he felt the warmth of their tiny bodies, and, sighing, sat on his bed, holding them. He thought that almost three months had passed since their birth, and that in a week or less he very probably would have to tolerate Maeglin in his bedroom again. And now he understood a simple thing that Penlod apparently (happily for him) still did not understand. Penlod now became his partner, they became a couple, a real Elven couple, and if Maeglin forcefully exercised his power over him, as he used to do when Turgon was alone, lost and mad - now he, Turgon, may not survive the rape.  
Both children squeaked piteously at once. Turgon was surprised, but at the same time he felt what they felt, too - some weird cold, a trembling, some strange _uncertainty_ in the air, in the light, in all things - as if everything around him craved to run away, to disappear, to melt down. He put the children on the bed, kissed them both (probably for the first time) and stood up.  
The door flew open - noiselessly, although it usually creaked. Someone peered into the room. Turgon recognized even a half of this face and body - a long nose, a black eyebrow, deep dark green eye, a thin hand, covered with a black sleeve and a black glove; and then, when he came in, Turgon saw and recognized the second half. The second cheek was covered with ugly pink scars, disfigured; the second hand, with which the one who entered, had just removed his gloves, was all black, gray and white, as if it turned into ashes.  
Melkor.  
Morgoth.

Melkor appeared in his glory and greatness among the other Valar during the feasts in Valinor. Turgon saw him many times among his Valar brothers and sisters, but, strangely, he could not recognize and describe Melkor.  
Turgon realized only now that this was Melkor's true appearance (he had already been told that Melkor could not change his form after the theft of the Silmarils), and that he had seen this true appearance many times already. This long, strange body, which belonged to a fourteen-year-old teenager, but unusually tall one, like Turgon himself or Penlod, and the right, the whole half of his face, were very familiar to him. This young man with thin arms in embroidered black clothes with large malachite buttons and an emerald brooch Turgon saw many times among his cousins and other young Noldor in Tirion. Turgon did not know who he was, and under what name he introduced himself to them. Turgon did not know even now whether they knew who he was or believed he was a young Noldo next door, just like them, - a cheerful, carefree youngster who only cared about feasts, hunts and horse races. Turgon remembered...  
...Here Melkor stands next to Celegorm and Finrod, the black-haired one next to two blond young Elves, his black robes between scarlet and green: he whispers something to Celegorm's ear, Finrod leans toward them; Celegorm laughs, Finrod shakes his head, looks at them and leaves. Angrod and Aegnor stand here, also laughing.   
Melkor tells something to their father, Finarfin: he leans close to him, too close, almost puts his head on his shoulder.   
Melkor sits on the same bench with Maglor, helps him to pull the pegs on the harp, touches the strings with his long fingers, hooks a string with his long nail, and explains something.   
Here he hugs Curufin, embracing his waist, his red lips almost touch the cousin's ear - as if Melkor is about to bite him.   
Now Melkor says something indignantly to Caranthir, pointing to Finwë's house in Tirion, and the cousin nods.   
Bending in a graceful bow, without raising his eyes, he hands Fëanor a ruby button he dropped.   
Amrod and Amras hold a chain in their hand. On the chain hangs a pendant with a huge diamond, surrounded by radiant opals. The pendant swings, and the young man in black, like a tree struck by lightning, bent, half-squatting, sits on the ground between them. He looks at the stone with a rapturous glint in his eyes, and the iridescent reflections dance on his white face.   
Here are a couple of young women going for a walk. Melkor gallantly helps Aredhel to mount her horse, and Galadriel laughs at something...   
_Did they see him at all?_   
\- a strange and terrible thought flashed through Turgon's mind.  
  
_Perhaps, I was the only one who actually saw him then among them?_  
  
Melkor sat in the chair on which Gwathren used to sit (it was a rare moment when Turgon regretted the absence of the gold-haired Sinda).  
\- How are you? - Melkor asked. Yes, and this voice he heard, too - pleasant, husky, enchanting. Melkor had a perfect pronunciation, as if Quenya was his native language, but he always drawled, especially the long vowels: for Turgon, this was a sign that the speaker attached too much importance to his words.  
The following words did not correspond to the cultured elegance of his speech:  
\- Does your... still hurt after the delivery?  
Turgon understood the rude, disgusting word that he used, and his face reddened.  
\- No, it does not hurt anymore, - replied Turgon constrainedly.  
\- Well, how do I know how much it should hurt, - laughed Melkor. - Soon it will hurt again; Maeglin will fix you another baby.  
\- Does he want another baby? - Turgon asked.  
\- He does, and I want it, too: we need slaves, especially Noldorin slaves like you - beautiful, dexterous and quick-witted. You, however, are only beautiful and nothing else, - Melkor approached him and looked at him so that Turgon felt naked; perhaps, Melkor was indeed able to see him naked now. - Well, it's fine, your children with Maeglin should be smarter. So you will give birth every year and a half: you are healthy and strong, I suppose, you can stand it.  
The next few phrases he said were so disgusting that Turgon preferred to delete them from his memory (this was the moment when his shortcomings - arrogance and unwillingness to hear when he did not want to hear, - came at the right time).  
\- How do you feel now? - asked Melkor, again sitting down in the armchair. - For a long time you hid from me. Now you understand where you belong? Now you know that you are a... (He again used the same dirty word, in the same pleasant voice of an educated Noldo). When you were lying in the roadside mud, you realized that your stature meant something, only when you were posing in the garnet crown on the snow-white steps of your palace? What can you say?  
\- I... I... - Turgon gathered all his strength and responded, carefully choosing the words. He answered quite sincerely, although now in his heart he had many different feelings, and he could have said something else. - I am humiliated and completely destroyed by you. I was raped, forced to endure all sorts of abominations, treated like a whore; but it was hardly possible to come up with more humiliation than this. I still wear the shirt that was made for me when I was carrying a child. I was sitting here on the bed, with a swollen belly, in which there was a child by Maeglin, - even two of his children - and I was sick. And I very probably have to experience this again. I can not think of anything worse.  
Melkor seemed to be pleased with the answer.  
\- By the way, I never saw you pregnant - I just forgot to have look. However, now I have a lot of fun with others... Next time Maeglin will show it to me, perhaps. I'm sure he will not be jealous of me.  
Turgon stood, looking down; after a while he felt that Melkor had left.  
  
Gwathren ran into the room; Turgon suspected that he was all the time somewhere nearby and just did not want to face Melkor. Who would?  
\- How are you? How are the children? - Gwathren asked nervously.  
Turgon picked up the twins again. He realized that the babies, too, should have been frightened.  
\- I think, the children are fine. He wanted to talk to me and did not pay any attention to them... fortunately.  
Turgon recalled what Sauron had told him when he forced him to go to bed with Maeglin. His words partly echoed what Turgon himself thought; now, understanding that much of what he said was a lie or a deliberate distortion of facts, Turgon nevertheless considered his words, agreeing or not agreeing with him, thinking that in some cases he could indeed act otherwise.  
The few phrases Melkor said now, although they seemed to repeat what he heard from Sauron (Turgon had guessed about Maeglin's plans before that, overhearing snatches of conversations) - were so inhumanly disgusting; they denied not Turgons acts as a king, as a brother, as a son - but his whole being, everything he was born into, all that was his life so far - that he could not reconcile with it.  
Turgon felt a cold rage for the first time during his captivity. He realized that he wanted to live, that he would not reconcile himself to the fact that he would be trampled down again, humiliated, destroyed. He knew that now he is alone, that nearly all his people were dead, that for the few survivors he ceased to exist - but he was again ready to try desperately to exist further. If earlier he managed to live several centuries, not submitting to the will of Melkor, now he was ready to fight even for a few hours.  
  
***

Penlod realized that until the end of the three months of rest, which Sauron appointed to Turgon, there remained, perhaps, only a week. They did not talk about it; but in Penlod's soul everything was covered with cold and fear. He did not know what to do; probably in his heart of hearts he was waiting for his king to order him something. But he always imagined the next time. He comes and Turgon would be in the bed, half-naked, in an old shirt, with broken lips and bruises on his hands, just as the first time Penlod saw him here - and it would be clear what that means. Today Turgon was sitting on the bed in his old dressing-gown; it was almost dark in the room; autumn was already approaching. From the window that faced the east, a cold draught came. Gwathren was nowhere to be seen.  
Penlod sat down next to Turgon. He wanted to say something, but Turgon wrapped his arms around his neck and Penlod started to kiss him, embraced him, and suddenly felt that under his hands Turgon was putting off his dressing gown, and that there was nothing under the dress - neither pants, nor shirt. During this time, Penlod had occasion to touch him, helping to change clothes; several times he discreetly kissed his feet and hands. He could not even dream of touching the naked body of his loved one. Only sometimes in dreams he was feeling some vague perceptions of the love he longed for, but even in a dream he did not experience such moments directly: they felt as passing memories of what happened once and would not return. Now Penlod kissed his sides and his hands unendingly, moving over from his lips and neck. He was almost hurt by shame, because now he realized that he had wanted this all his life; everything he desired for ages has been happening right now. Penlod could touch his chest, his strong hips, his hot knees, and then move higher and higher. He was afraid that he was hurting Turgon, but, flustered with passion, he embraced him, not realizing that his fingernails and lips leave scratches and bruises on his lover's skin.  
He did not immediately understand what his beloved wanted. He felt his face ablaze; Penlod could not believe Turgon would ever let him take him as a woman.  
\- Are you sure it will not hurt? Penlod asked awkwardly.  
\- No, it will not... Penlod, please!..  
\- Yes whatever you want...  
  
...Turgon was asleep for a while. Embracing him, feeling his breath on his shoulder, Penlod considered himself the happiest creature in the world. He woke up, they looked at each other; a faint light broke through the door. Turgon immediately turned away from him, but no one entered the room, and Penlod dared to take his hand.  
\- I just wonder... Nathron ... are you still his? - Turgon said.  
\- No, it was only in the first few days. I'm sorry, - said Penlod.  
Penlod hugged him again; the pain of realizing their situation stroke him suddenly and immediately. They were slaves, whose love must be absolutely indifferent for the owners - they could at any time be separated, killed, subjected to violence, - or worse, their feelings for each other could become an amusement. If at this moment Turgon asked him to help him to die, Penlod could do it.  
\- Turgon, do you sleep? - Gwathren asked from behind the door. - It's time for you to dine.  
\- Yes, - replied Turgon calmly, - I was asleep, but I am already awake.  
Turgon sat on the bed and began to put on his shirt and robes; Penlod thought that maybe he sees him naked for the first and last time. But he dared only kiss his back between his shoulders, tenderly moving away the thick black locks. Turgon, without saying anything, went into the kitchen and started to talk to Gwathren. Penlod passed them and went upstairs to Nathron's rooms.  
  
***

Nathron ordered him to assemble needles and other sewing accessories by size. Penlod tried to do it, but did not succeed: he couldn't put his mind to anything.  
\- What happened to you? - asked Natron. He crouched next to Penlod and took a long needle out of his trembling hands. - Son, you're not yourself.  
The second time Natron addressed to Penlod so affectionately, and at that moment he could not stand it. He told Nathron everything he felt, everything that was going on between him and Turgon.  
\- I can not ... I can not bear this anymore, - said Penlod. - He will be tormented again. He did nothing wrong to anyone, no one, never! Yes, he executed Ëol, but now he helped him to be born again, although he himself suffered unbearably. He even begged Ëol not to die again now, not to leave him, remember, when he nearly died. He was ready to love Ëol. And I suffer because of someone I've never seen.  
\- What do you mean? - asked Nathron.  
\- I never saw Ëol in my life. I was in Hithlum with Fingon then. I had to go and tell him that there was still no news of his sister Aredhel. Luckily, I was not the one who informed him about what had happened. Still, Fingon was worried and wanted to go to Gondolin with me; sometimes I think that if he had come with me, nothing would have happened, Fingon would have found a way out...  
\- All right, - said Nathron. Penlod looked up at him, and just now he saw how grim he was. - You can not make it. Get some sleep.  
  
***  
\- Turgon, you're crazy, - Gwathren said as Turgon finished eating. Gwathren himself always ate very little.  
\- Why? \- Can you explain me why you slept with him? Why did you sleep with Penlod? I understand that you kissed, hugged each other, I closed my eyes to it - it could be friendship. But today you gave it to him. Can you explain this to me?  
Turgon was chilled by his words. The flame of the candles reflected strangely in Gwathren's gray eyes.  
\- Maeglin is obsessed with purity and chastity, - Gwathren continued, - strangely enough, I am convinced that this is often the case with persons who resort to violence, especially in marriage. He might have agreed to leave you in peace longer, especially if Gorthaur told him that you were unwell - after the childbirth, and a very weird one at that, you have the right to be unhealthy and even die, like Míriel. But what happens if he finds out that you gave yourself in to another man?  
\- I ... I just can not do it anymore, - Turgon replied, repeating Penlod's words. - I can not live like this any longer. I will not be Maeglin's concubine, I will not be a doll on which he can wreak his anger. Melkor explained to me that I have nothing - yes, there is nothing but my own body, which I can now dispose of. Let him execute me, let him torture me, let him... whatever, but I will no longer belong to Maeglin - and Morgoth. I will not.  
\- Turgon... - Gwathren's look suddenly became very stern. - You've been dealing with Gorthaur all this time. Gorthaur is a very cruel and two-faced creature, but he is rational. He may torture you to learn something or because he is interested in how much and where you will be hurt. And Melkor... Do you understand why he likes Maeglin so much? He is just like Maeglin: he considers himself offended, and he is ready to inflict unbearable pain on anyone he blames for his problems. For Maeglin it's you and your subjects, for Melkor - that's everyone he can reach. You just can not imagine what he can do to you. With Penlod in your presence. With your twins - I know you do not love them, but you can not help feeling for them. You still don't know him. Gorthaur can torture you to find out something. Melkor can give you years of meaningless, unbearable torment, when you can not surrender, retreat, break down - because you have already surrendered, but everything is not enough for him.  
\- I went mad, yes, I know; and, probably, I am a bit selfish, - answered Turgon. - If you ask me if I was ready to pay with eternal torment for an hour of happiness that I gave to someone I loved - I do not know; I probably did it without thinking. I can not avoid retribution, but...  
Turgon got up from the table and then felt a sudden weakness caused by fear and excitement; he almost ran his the bedroom and fell to the bed. \- I want to comfort you, - Gwathren addressed him from behind the door, still sitting at the table. - It can not last forever, because he will be bored. Morgoth is only interested in Morgoth. He is the most impulsive of the Valar. He will pass to other imaginary insults and imaginary offenders. Some other Fëanor will make a beautiful jewel, another Turgon will build a marvelous city - and everything will start again. \- Why do you serve him? - Turgon asked.  
\- I serve Gorthaur, - Gwathren shook his head.  
\- It's not true, - Turgon said. - Serving him, you serve Morgoth.  
\- I work for Gorthaur personally, - Gwathren replied austerely. - Remember this.  
\- I understand from the words of Nathron, - said Turgon, - that you became the servant of Gorthaur after visiting the caves of Angband, am I right? Do you, like Maeglin, consider yourself a hero who surrendered on honorable conditions?  
Gwathren went to him, entering into the dark bedroom; his black silhouette against the backdrop of the illuminated doorway seemed terrible to Turgon. He did not see his face, only the dim reflections of the yellow light in the blond hair.  
\- It's not very clever of you, Turgon, to offend the one who have never shown a disfavour to you and have never done you any harm. Especially if you still want to live on somehow.  
\- Gwathren, I just do not understand you, - Turgon admitted. -You state that Sauron is a rational creature. Despite what Nathron said, I do not believe that you became a servant of Gorthaur, simply because you could not stand the torment. I would really like to know what he promised you. Especially since you, again judging by the words of Nathron, have sustained much more than Maeglin. Well, why did you give up?  
\- I can tell you one thing. I would have thought much worse about you, if you had not give up in my place.  
Gwathren went out, slamming the door. Turgon was terribly angry with himself: yes, today he went too far. After all, Gwathren most likely did not mean anything wrong. He simply did not know what to do next when it turned out that his captive did what he should not do.  
  
***  
The next morning, Nathron ordered Penlod to follow him into the dungeons. Penlod was distressed when he saw in a cold cellar, where it was much colder than outside. The corpses were lying on stone tables - mostly Elves and two or three Men. Nathron took out a small metal box. There were some sewing accessories, but not quite the same as in a sewing kit - there were strange needles, hooks, and the threads, that were not soft and colored, but thick, stiff, white and black.  
\- You'll learn how to stitch wounds. I need helpers. Sit down, - and Nathron led him to one of the corpses. - Look here...  
\- Will I do this for a long time? - asked Penlod.  
\- Apparently, this is for good, - Nathron said firmly. – It's cold here: take a warm blanket there, on the shelf.  
.  
.. On the third day Turgon could not stand it any more, and in the evening, before supper, he asked Gwathren:  
\- Penlod... will they send him back here? Gwathren was silent.  
\- Will I see him again?  
\- Most likely not, - Gwathren replied. \- All right... - said Turgon. - Then ... Then, Gwathren ... can you bring me something from him? A lock or a piece of his dress... I understand that this can also be taken away from me, but at least for a while.  
\- Well, - said Gwathren indifferently, - I'll get something.  
  
***  
The next morning, Gwathren woke Turgon very early; it was still quite dark.  
\- Come on, wash quickly and get dressed, it's morning.  
\- So early ... I could do it without your help. You do not have to wake me up, after all ...  
\- I said - immediately.  
Something in the tone of Gwathren's voice caused a strange sensation in Turgon's mind. He looked around the room, the windows, and the medicine cabinet; on the floor again there was a stub of an apple - yesterday Maeglin came to look at him and brought the twins with him.  
Turgon tamely obeyed Gwathren's orders, put on what Gwathren had given him, fastening with difficulty unfamiliar, large black agate buttons.  
\- And now, - said Gwathren, - come with me.

  



	11. The Spoiled Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What will happen to Turgon?  
> Does Turgon really believe that his brother is guilty? Or was Fingon deceived by a treacherous lover?
> 
>   
> 

  


Gwathren led Turgon through the dark corridors. Suddenly a small door opened inside a thick wall. Gorthaur's assistant prudently made Turgon to go ahead of himself. Then there were still more staircases, more branching corridors, going up and down. Now Turgon could hardly go back on his own. Finally, they were on a small landing in front of a black wooden door, armored with a strange bluish metal. Gwathren pushed him to the door and produced a key.  
\- Turgon, - he said, - I have a question. Do you really love Penlod? And are you... - He did not finish the sentence, but Turgon understood what he was asking about.  
\- I will answer you in your own words: _will my answer change my situation_?  
\- Yes, it will, - replied Gwathren.  
\- Yes, - said Turgon. - And yes.  
Gwathren opened the door and invited him out. Turgon closed his eyes tight, stepping over the threshold. He felt drops on his brow and hands, and raised his head: for the first time in more than a year he was under the open sky, gray and cloudy, under a drizzling rain. He was too happy to wonder where they were going. They walked for a long time along a narrow ravine, a path between gray rocks, sometimes climbing steps carved in the stone, more often - going down.  
"Does Maeglin want to throw me from a cliff, like Ëol? Is this his way to spare me from further torments?" - Turgon thought. Finally, the path led them to a narrow platform in the rocks. Turgon saw a few half-dried, blackened fir-trees and pines, and a solitary wooden house.  
Gwathren opened the door with his key and let Turgon in. Near the door a young black-haired Elf was sleeping on a pile of straw; on his left hand was a steel bracelet, from which a long chain ran into the wall. Gwathren pushed the king forward. Then Turgon realized that it was a stable. In front of him was a huge black horse. The animal tilted its neck and turned its head under an impossible angle for a horse, looking at Turgon: the whites of its huge eyes were orange.  
\- Mount it, - Gwathren ordered him, and offered his hand, helping him to mount the huge beast whose withers were almost on a level with Turgon's eyes. Gwathren jumped on his horse behind him, using a bench. The door slammed and they left the stable. The weird horse rushed along the ash-covered rocky path.  
\- What ... what are we doing? - Turgon finally asked.  
\- I'm taking you away from here, if you have not yet got it, - Gwathren replied. – To tell you the truth, this was Nathron's idea, not mine. I take a lot of risks, but I agreed to his request. Unfortunately, it can not be done without me: except Gorthaur, I am the only one who has access to the key to the exit from the Gray tower, where Maeglin's rooms are located. Maeglin believes that from his rooms there is no direct exit and that one can go there only through the other towers of the castle. This is one of the reasons why he preferred to stay at this place: he is afraid that one of the Elves may try to sneak to Angband or, being already there, get into his quarters and kill him. Turgon, bend forward, please, I can not see the road at all because of you.  
Rocks and charred trees flew past them; Gwathren's small hands firmly held the reins.  
\- Why? - Turgon asked. - What for? Why do you need it? Why would Nathron..?  
\- I think you'll soon be able to figure out Nathron's reasons, - Gwathren replied. - Others also may have their own reasons, which you may never find out.  
Turgon desperately wished to escape now, jump off his horse and flee anywhere at random; he did not want to go wherever Gwathren made him to go. But he subdued this desire, realizing that he could not get anywhere by himself and, most likely, here, near Angband, he would be caught and brought back.  
The horse carried him away from Melkor and Maeglin with an unreal, terrible speed that he could not even imagine.  
\- Gwathren! Gwathren… Wait! - Turgon jerked, and the man behind him poked him in the back with his fist. - Gwathren! But what about Penlod? What about my children? What will become of them? I'd probably better...  
\- Turgon, in this case you have to choose. You can either stay with the children, or go away from here yourself: you could not escape _and_ take the children. Actually, becoming Penlod's lover, you have already made a choice. Maeglin can be convinced that he should let you go, but he will not be able to part with Ëols. You must not be afraid for the twins: Maeglin is not capable of harming them, and besides, he is already devoted to Melkor. Melkor does not need additional means to put pressure on your nephew.  
Turgon remembered Gwathren's own recent words about the meaningless cruelty of Melkor. The twins were also his children, and not just the children of Maeglin. He bit his lip several times till it started to bleed, stuck his fingernails hard into the palms. Now the most important thing was the escape. Not for his own sake but for the sake of those whom he was forced to leave behind.  
Now he must look closely into this maelstrom of horrendous events and see the schemes behind them. He must find out whom he will have to fight- Sauron or Melkor.  
But he only repeated his question:  
\- What about Penlod?  
\- Nathron will bring him along; this is much easier. Actually, he already did it. You'll meet with Penlod tonight.  
Turgon fell silent. They rode for a very long time; then they stopped, and Gwathren gave Turgon some water and bread. He had a terrible back ache because he had to bend all the time.  
\- If we stop, I'll show you something, - said Gwathren. - Do you recognize this thing?  
In Gwathren's hand there was a pendant a golden chain with a small sapphire flower.  
\- Where did you get it? - Turgon asked.  
\- It was among Celegorm's belongings. More precisely, it was under the saddle of Maedhros's horse, which Celegorm borrowed. There was a small bag in which there were other interesting things, but I want to ask you about this one.  
\- Yes, - answered Turgon. - Yes. I should not ... although what difference does it make now? Maedhros wore this as a token of affection for my brother. Fingon had his pendant, too, - a ruby flower. So Maedhros... he did not even wear it, - Turgon said bitterly.  
\- I think, - said Gwathren, - he did not want to take the jewel with him, setting off for such a questionable affair as the attack on Doriath, and in fact this thing was very precious to him. Someday I'll try to find out: Gorthaur said he would try to exchange it for a key to the Silmarils's casket, the one that Penlod mentioned. At least I can try and see what Maedhros can say about this.  
\- But then ... - Turgon fell silent. Once again he asked: - What for?  
\- Gorthaur wants to know the truth, - Gwathren replied. - He is ready to pay for it and make certain sacrifices. He had to endure much in this war, he had much to do and on one point he nearly died. Gorthaur did not steal the Silmarils and did not kill Finwë, but all the Noldor hate him because of his association with Melkor. But what if Melkor did not do it, too? Gorthaur does not like to play blindfolded. If he learned that Finwë was killed by his own son, grandson or great-grandson - or by his wife, daughter, granddaughter, great-granddaughter, and so on - he would prefer to use this fact to set a quarrel between the Noldor themselves, and not to be involved in a senseless confrontation for decades.  
Turgon thought about it. The mention of "pay" and "making certain sacrifices" led him to the conclusion that his unexpected release happened with Sauron's participation or at least Gwathren and Nathron were pretty sure that Sauron would not object to setting Turgon free. It was obvious that discovering the truth about the lock, Turgon himself would like to find out how the lock come into Fingon's possession, and Fingon's brother would, perhaps, have a better chance to find out the facts than Sauron himself.  
\- Tell me, please, - Gwathren continued, - do you really believe that one of your relatives could do this? Do you believe that Fingon, your own brother, took part in the murder of your grandfather?  
\- No ... No, - Turgon replied bitterly. - No, of course, I do not believe it. I was just very angry then. Maedhros bewitched him, - just like Ëol bewitched our sister; he did not notice anyone else around. In fact, I think that Maedhros simply gave him this thing to keep and it happened here, in Middle-Earth, because Maedhros did not want his brothers to see it. That means he hid it immediately on arrival, before his capture. Very probably the lock was with him or with Fëanor, and Fëanor shared his secret with his eldest son before he died. When Fingon freed Maedhros from imprisonment, Maedhros found the lock and gave it to Fingon. I think it's possible that Maedhros somehow received it from Melkor while he was in captivity or learned where Melkor put it when he was fleeing from Valinor with the treasures. However, in this case Maedhros would show it to his brothers but he did not. Fingon could not have known what it was, because nobody in my own family had ever seen this casket. The only thing that I deem impossible is that Fingon, knowing what it was and what it may mean, here or back in Valinor, could hide it even at the instigation of Maedhros or Fëanor! He would have told me. He would have told our father. I do not believe that Fingon made us to follow Fëanor through the ice, would tolerate the death of my wife, of our younger brother Aracáno, of dozens, hundreds of Noldor, knowing that we did not chase Finwë's murderer, that Melkor did not kill him, that the killer is one of us! If we knew about this, we would stay in Valinor! We would stay, if we only suspected it, Gwathren! But none of us had any doubts that Melkor was to blame for this. My father hastened into a combat with Finwë's murderer, with the one who massacred and tortured his subjects, Elves and Men alike, and not with the thief of the Silmarils – none of us needed them!...  
\- I will answer, like my master, - said Gwathren, - that there is a certain gap in your reasoning. You said that Fingon would not let you follow Fëanor and his companions, knowing that actually you were not chasing Finwë's murderer. But what if the murderer was someone whom Fingon valued much more than Finwë? Or else, what if your brother knew or suspected that your grandfather's killer had sailed to Beleriand with Fëanor on the Teleri ships? You yourself said that it could be Fëanor himself. What if Fingon just did not have time or opportunity to take revenge on him, because Fëanor died? By the way, in that conversation, Gorthaur said that he himself had killed Fëanor, and even, I believe, expressed some regret about it. Do you know why?  
\- No, - Turgon shook his head. - I'm just convinced that Fingon was not involved in any of this, and I wanted to tell you about it. After all, how could one of the Noldor wilfully do any harm to Finwë? Even if Melkor himself did not do it, this could only be done by his order. Finwë was the most harmless creature in the world, naive as a child. He seemed so young - it was difficult to tell him from us, his grandchildren; his son Fëanor looked much older, and my father, perhaps, too. I sometimes think that the only thing that I really did well in my life – I've made him happy, becoming the father of his great-granddaughter, while he was still alive. He just adored children, he wanted more of them...  
\- Well, at least you and Maeglin pleased someone, albeit posthumously, - Gwathren snorted. – However, I'm not so sure if Ëol rejoiced at his rebirth. Let's go now.  
  
***  
When they entered the forest, it was almost dark. - I'll leave you at the appointed place, - Gwathren said. - Penlod will find you himself. Take this knife - just in case. I hope youll be smart enough not to try to hurt me. There is a tree there that you can climb.  
In the ambiguous evening light, in the dim shadows of the branches, Turgon saw something strange, like clouds of violet and purple sparks; it was another shard of the Girdle of Melian.  
\- Close your eyes, - Gwathren said.  
Turgon lowered his head and closed his eyes. "How can a Sauron's minion pass through what's left of the Girdle?", he thought.  
Involuntarily, he half-opened one eye. Perhaps it was just an illusion, but in the flashes of a strange, blinking light as they passed through the sprays of glowing strips of air, he saw shadows of horrific scars on Gwathren's graceful hands.  
\- Get down, - Gwathren said after a few minutes, stopping the horse by a huge branchy oak. - Here, Penlod will find you. Farewell, Turgon. And do not look back. Gwathren rode away.  
But Turgon did look back; Gwathren did not notice it.  
  
***  
Turgon opened his eyes and saw the rosy rays of morning sun on the withered grass; Penlod shook him gently on his shoulder.  
\- Turgon ... Turincë! Can you hear me?  
\- Yes ... yes, yes, - he answered, rising to his feet; Penlod, with a muffled cry, embraced him and did not let him go for a long time; Turgon himself, trembling, wiped his tear-stained face against his shoulder, clutching Penlod's jacket, his belt. Then, getting out of his convulsively clasped hands, Turgon himself hugged him frantically.  
\- I ... I thought I was lost. They've explained everything to me, but we are not forest Elves, after all! I've been running around all night. I hope I'll find the way back, although now I almost understand where I am.  
\- Where are we going? - Turgon asked, wiping away his tears. - And who are _they_?  
\- Nathron brought me there. I do not quite understand who they are, either. Well, youll see.

  



	12. Kindred by Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the original gay Elves!

Penlod asked Turgon to bend over. They walked under dense intertwining branches by a narrow path, turned several more times and found themselves at a small wooden gate, which was entwined with green vines of shrubberies. Penlod knocked and the gate opened. On the threshold stood two girls, dressed in modest long black dresses. Both were very beautiful even by Elvish standards: one tall, blue-eyed, with shoulder-length black hair, like Penlod and Turgon's, her head was encircled with an embroidered leather band. The other was a little lower, with dark-chestnut wavy curls braided in two huge thick braids. The black-haired girl wore scarlet garnet beads, a girl with braids - turquoise.  
\- Come in! Is this your king? - asked the black-haired Elf-maid. - Nathron left a note for us, but I did not quite understand it. I do not know Cirth runes well. But you'll tell us everything, right?  
The courtyard around the small house was surrounded by a high fence, which for the most part consisted not of planks, but of trees that grew into each other. It was dark, but Turgon felt safe here. They were led through the house, and out by a back door; here through a small roofed gallery they passed into another, quite small house.  
\- There's just one bed, - one of the girls giggled behind their backs (they did not see which one), - but, I hope, you both will fit in!  
Looking around the room, Turgon worked out that Nathron indeed lived here, although, apparently, a very long time ago. The coverlet on the bed was decorated with a patterned embroidery; on the walls hung several others. One embroidered tapestry especially attracted Turgon's attention: unlike Nathron's other works, it was not a web of patterns, but a picture. There was a house in the forest on the shore of a gloomy lake. The house looked abandoned: the door sunk to one side, a half-submerged boat was rotting in the water, and the windows were black and empty. In the evening sky, above the maze of lace-like black branches, a pale waning moon gleamed with mother-of-pearl. The whole picture was permeated with strange sadness. Light silver threads drizzled from the sky and over the water - it was raining in the tapestry, and everything seemed to be crying along with someone who was not pictured here.  
\- Nathron gave me clothes for you and for me, too, - said Penlod, pointing to the bundle on the bed. - If you want, change your dress.  
Nathron was not much lower than Turgon, and indeed Penlod and Turgon could squeeze into his bed, if they wanted to, although it was a bit narrow. \- It's very cold here, - Turgon said. He did not want to take off his warm travel dress. Penlod sat next to him and kissed his hands passionately.  
\- I've missed you so much these few days! Now you are with me again! - Turgon made a move to tug his hand away, but Penlod did not notice it. He wrapped his arms around Turgons neck and tried to kiss him, and only then did he realize that Turgon did not want this, noticed how strained his arms and body were. Penlod moved aside and turned away. He thought that everything was too good, that he was too happy.  
\- I understand everything, - he said. - I understand. I will not do it again.  
\- What do you understand? - Turgon answered with a question.  
\- I ... - Penlod wanted to say: _you do not like me at all; you just needed me to be comforted_ \- but how could he hurt Turgon now with reproaches and disrespect? - I'll just be your friend, as I was before. I will be everything for you, whatever you want.  
\- I don't know. I just do not know, Penlod. Forgive me. I could come into your arms back than... because I was desperate. I really love you, too. Now it's hard for me to come to my senses immediately.  
It was difficult for Turgon himself to understand what he was feeling now. Perhaps the main thing now was that the wind, the rain, the smell of earth brought him back not the memories of freedom, but the remembrance of the first horrible weeks after the captivity, reminded him all the pain and humiliation that he had to endure before he came into the hands of Sauron and Maeglin.   
It must take time for this vulnerability and fear to come to an end, Turgon thought. He had become accustomed to helplessness.  
It was wrong.  
Turgon kissed Penlod on the brow and said:  
\- It's just ... not right now, okay?  
\- Oh sure!  
Penlod continued to unpack the luggage. - There seems to be a stove here, I'll stoke it, and after we have our breakfast, it'll be warmer here, - he told Turgon.  
  
***  
  
\- I'm Elring, you can just call me Ela, - said the girl with the wavy braids. - And she is Naineth.  
\- I'm usually called Nan, - the stern, black-haired beauty responded, placing clay plates with meat and something like porridge in front of them. – Here's a little; if one of you helps, then we'll make more for lunch.  
Turgon thanked the women and began to eat his porridge with a wooden spoon as ceremoniously as he would eat at a feast in his father's palace. Penlod was surprised at how his king could eat so decorously and slowly: he himself was ready to swallow the plate. Penlod spoke to the hostesses, hoping to prolong the breakfast. In addition, he still was curious about how they were related to Nathron.  
\- Nathron used to live in this house, did he? - Penlod asked.  
\- Yes, he lived here for a long time, more than twenty years, - Nan sighed. - But it's been a long time. The small house is now quite old.  
\- Are you his sister? - asked Penlod.  
Nan said nothing, staring at her plate. Ela looked at Turgon with a weird inquisitiveness and even as if with surprise. It seemed to him that she was about to ask something, then she also looked away.  
\- Not really, - Nan finally said. - I'm not his sister. Of course, we were born together, but I ...  
\- But if you were born together, that does mean that you are his sister? - Turgon asked, perplexed.  
\- We ... we woke up together, - Nan explained calmly. - We awakened by the Lake Cuiviénen next to each other, - me and Nathron. It was ages ago, and than he had a different name.  
\- It's impossible, - Turgon stopped eating and put down the spoon. – Is Nathron so old? So why do you... Elring smiled slyly at them.  
\- When your fathers told you about the Awakening of the Elves, they certainly told that for each male Elf the face of his wife seemed the most beautiful in the world and they could not take their eyes off each other for a long time. Of course, this is true. But it happened so that for Nan my face seemed to be the most beautiful, not Nathron's, and for Nathron - not Nan's, but Ëol's. In the end, it turned out that we… switched, so to say.  
Now Penlod did not want to eat, too.  
\- Does that mean that Ëol had been living with Nathron all these years? - Turgon finally asked. - All this time? So explain me, please, why on earth did they abduct my sister?!  
\- Nathron has nothing to do with your sister's abduction! - exclaimed Ela. - Ëol abandoned him. He just abandoned Nathron and left. Nathron came to us, do you remember, Nan? It was raining for weeks, but it seemed to me that his clothes were all wet from tears. For many days he cried constantly, and did not leave our house.  
Penlod recalled the inscription in Ëol's book: _The waning moon, eighth day, rain month, rainfall, hail_ \- and guessed that Ëol, nonetheless, noted the day of his parting with the one who loved him so much.  
\- Nathron sat here and embroidered the tapestry with the house where they lived. It took months, if not years. Then, when he finished, he calmed down a bit, - continued Ela, nervously pulling herself by the fluffy braid. - But he still was miserable. Then we learned from the Dwarves that Ëol had brought a Noldo maid to his place and a son was born to them. For Nathron this was very bitter news. He, in the end, decided that he had to go to Ëol, make peace with him or something, and bring a present to his son and wife. He wanted to make something beautiful for her. But then it happened so that Ëol died. We told Nathron that if everything came about as other Elves say, then neither you, Turgon, nor your family were guilty - Ëol just should not thrust himself upon you. But Nathron became embittered and since then all his talks were about how he hated all the Noldor. He, at least, agreed to go to your brother Findecáno and ask him how exactly everything came about, because of course Nathron could not get to you, and I think he did not want to.  
\- King Fingolfin himself received him, - Nan corrected her girlfriend. - Fingon simply did not want to leave his father alone with Nath, because of course he looked so unfriendly. Nath told them he was Ëol's friend and wanted to know whether he really died and how. They accepted him kindly, told everything they could tell, and Fingolfin even suggested that Nathron could stay at his court as a friend and a relative. But Nath refused. Then he told us that he was going to serve Gorthaur - and we could not dissuade him.  
\- I do not understand, - said Turgon, - how Ëol could do that. I still do not understand.  
\- Do you see, Cáno ... can I call you that? - Nan asked. - I know that you were offended by Ëol, - Nan took Turgon's hand, - but do not think about him so badly. He was just... a little eccentric. Ëol was very jealous about everybody and everything. It's weird, but he has always been like that. He was always madly jealous because of Nathron, almost never letting him out of the house. Nath really is not much into meeting people, and he could always make himself all materials for weaving and sewing. The most problematic were dyes and beads, but Ëol made everything for him.  
\- Nath is so wonderful! It was he who came up with threads, needles, sewing, fabrics and all that, - Ela exclaimed. - If it were not for him, we would all still dress in what we plaited from dry grass.  
\- Of course, - the black-haired girl confirmed, - and he willingly shared with all his skills, no matter how annoyed Ëol might be. I remember well Ëol making a row, when Nath taught Míriel Therinde to sew and embroider! She was the one Ëol hated whole-heartedly. Do you remember, Ela, how Ëol once confronted Nath on the street at his forge because of her and nearly started to rip Nathron's hair off?!  
\- Yes, indeed, - Ela laughed, - but then I first saw them kissing in public! Ëol was jealous, of course, but always calmed down quickly. At that time Finwë still did not pay any attention to Míriel, but he really wanted Nathron to go with him to Valinor. There were already many smiths and jewelers among our people but there was no one like Nathron. Nonetheless Nathron did not want to leave anywhere. But after that, when a part of the Eldar left for Valinor, Ëol really became unique in his skills.  
Penlod finished his cold porridge. Before his mind's eyes were the magic, amazing embroideries of Nathron, intertwining and shimmering like stars in lake depths.  
\- You know, Cáno, - sighed Nan, - and you, Penlod; the personality of Ëol was such that he could not stand any rivalry. He was always alone and could not see someone working next to him. And when you, the Noldor Exiles returned to Beleriand, it was a great setback for him.  
\- So you mean, - said Penlod, - that Ëol envied all Noldor and at the same time wanted to become one of them? Was he sorry he did not depart to Valinor?  
\- You see, I believe the learning and all sorts of sciences still would not replace a natural gift, - Ela continued. – All of you Noldor read books, write beautifully, and make beautiful things. Ëol did not learn, he just had a gift. He came up with everything himself, he was a loner and he certainly could not be the same as an elf-Noldo. Among the Noldor there were many people who could do at least the same things as he; some could do something that Ëol could not do. But no one could do _everything_ that Ëol could do; I think that Fëanor himself would not have been able to do it either. I saw the armor that Fëanor made for his sons; compared with the one Ëol created for Thingol many years before, Fëanor's work was like the skin of a May beetle. But Ëol began to go crazy when the Noldor settled here, in Beleriand. Sometimes he railed against them, sometimes he admired them. He used to get objects made by Noldor and all day through he told us what mistakes the artisan had made, how imperfectly he picked up the colors, or that an armor, he said, would not stand a blow in such and such a place. And then he could lock himself up with the same object in his workshop, and Nath heard him crying because he could not make such things himself. Sometimes he worked for several months, trying to copy Noldorin jewelry, setting aside a work that the Dwarves ordered, even did not talk with Nath for days. He sometimes came to feasts to Noldor lands - to Mithrim, to Dor Carantir or to the Lord of Himring, and looked from afar on Noldor attires and ornaments, and, coming back home, he tried to sketch what he saw and do the same. The further, the more he became obsessed with the Noldor and the Noldor princes and princesses. And so he gradually grew cool towards Nathron, because Nathron could not help him in that. Ëol, surely, believed that a child by your sister must necessarily connect him with you. I think that Ëol actually did not mean any offence, but he wanted to take something away from you, and to become one of you, and not just one of you, but to become a member of your ruling house, because he thought he deserved it. But now he had a wife and child: there was yet another cause for jealousy. He was jealous of you, her brother and of all your family, did not want to let go of his son, did not want to stay in your city. It could not end well.  
\- I wonder what he would think about it now, - Turgon sighed.  
\- So was Ëol really reborn? - Nan inquired curiously. - It's so weird...   
\- As a matter of fact, yes, - answered Turgon. - Penlod, tell them, please - I'm afraid that I am not quite prepared to tell this story now.  
Penlod blushed to the roots of his hair. He could not imagine how to tell this strange story to the two women who were, besides, as it turned out, so much older then he was. Somehow he still managed it.  
\- Well, they are two of them now, - he finished.  
\- That sounds right, - Nan said suddenly. - Ëol never knew himself what he wanted. Maybe a part of him wanted to stay with Nath, and a part - to find another friend or just look for happiness elsewhere.  
\- Why did Maeglin grow up like this? - Ela looked at Turgon with disapproval. - What Quendi would wish to take a woman by force and forcibly make her pregnant? He was your nephew, after all, and he was educated by you and your courtiers.   
\- Maeglin was raised by Ëol, - Nan responded. - Ëol himself had talent and for many years he was capable of love but he managed to convey to Maeglin only his anger and envy. Maeglin happened to be next to him at his worst moments.  
-Yes, you're right, - agreed Ela. The girl looked unhappily at Turgon and affectionately touched his hand. - Forget it, Cáno, and live with us, we will not give you back to him. If you can, then it's better for you to give birth to another child, so as not to think about all this and not to grieve about Maeglin and his children, - and she winked at Penlod.  
\- Of course! A father, a grandfather or an uncle can be as kind as he can and settle in the best place ever, - Nan said passionately, - but if anything comes to a boy's mind, his relatives can not do anything. Well, take Finwë, for example, and his grandchildren... - She paused and, biting her finger, looked at Turgon with embarrassment.  
\- What about Finwë? - Turgon asked.  
\- Yes, I do not mean... - said Nan - just ... well, you know, of course, that someone killed him before Melkor took the Silmarils, and who could it be, if not one of the grandchildren? I do not mean anything offensive, - Nan responded to Ela's reproachful look. - Our Cáno, - she looked at Turgon with almost maternal pride, - could not be then in Finwë's house, everyone knows that, even Avari girls like us.  
\- Wait a minute, - Turgon tried to restrain his excitement, - but how did you, being, as you say, Avari women who never ever left Beleriand, learn that Finwë was killed before Melkor appeared in Formenos? I wouldn't say that everyone knows this among the Noldor, and Penlod and me talked about it in the presence of Nathron - for him it was news.  
\- Well, not exactly before Melkor appeared there, - Nan corrected her friend, - but Melkor did not kill him.  
\- Nathron hardly knows anything about this, - Ela waved her hand, - and it was you who found out everything, Nan! Tell us.  
\- Yes, tell us, please, - said Turgon, - I'm afraid that I do not know everything.  
And Naineth told an amazing story that happened to her a little more than a hundred years ago.

  



	13. Girls Like to Share Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unlikely witness speaks out in Finwë's murder case: this is Ungoliant's side of the story!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw this pic by Tolrone only after this chapter was written - Sauron looks very much like Ungoliant in this chapter ^.^  
> http://i-gwarth.tumblr.com/post/139657827922/tolrone-the-lord-of-the-rings-sauron-annatar

  
Chapter 13: Girls Like to Share Secrets  
Summary:

An unlikely witness speaks out in Finwë's murder case: listen to Ungoliant's side of the story (some horrors are to come).

Nan climbed rocks covered with lichen. That is, they were supposed to be covered with lichen, but now there was no lichen. She sighed. Nathron needed the lichen: he could use it to make a very unusual purple-violet dye. Nan was afraid to go further. There was a great road where she could meet some unpleasant travelers. Behind the road there were pine-covered cliffs and ravines of the Silent Land, Dor Dinen. Nan knew that there _might_ be lichen on these rocks, but crossing the road to the north side was very dangerous. Nevertheless, she descended from the rocks, cautiously peering out of the bushes.  
It was a late cold autumn, and Nan saw that an odd vapor (or mist?) was rising above the road. Nan went a little farther; the road, going to the east, descended into a valley and slightly expanded there; in this grass-plot travelers could (if they were many and they were brave) to stop and have some rest.  
The vapor rose above this valley.  
Nan realized that she should now feel sick, but for some reason she was unable to vomit. All the ground around her was strewn with remains of Dwarves and Men. The bodies were torn horribly, and the vapor came from the freshly lacerated flesh, still hot in the autumn air. Some remains were only heads and bloodied skeletons, but many, especially Dwarves, were hacked monstrously. Nan could not believe that these scraps of sinews and membranes, the morsels of flesh were sensible beings just minutes ago. There were no screams - when this happened, she should have already been within earshot; on considering, Nan could remember only a kind of muffled sigh, which she took for a gust of wind.  
In the midst of all this, on a stone by the road sat a girl.  
She looked like an Elf-girl with dark golden hair: the golden hue was so intense, that in the dull light of the cold afternoon sun her tresses seemed almost black. She was dressed in some kind of worn black rags. In her left hand, there was a dark and slimy piece of flesh, still steaming: Nan guessed it must be a liver. The girl swallowed it at once. In her other hand, she had a diadem - a beautiful Elf work, apparently a gift for a Mannish prince in the East. In the middle of it glittered a huge sapphire; from it parted five shining rays, which were crowned with diamonds flashing like sparks.  
The girl extracted the sapphire from its nest, looked at it thoughtfully and then put it into her mouth. Her mouth was full of teeth – of very long teeth. Actually, they were so long that she should not be able to close her mouth: they were similar to the pegs that Nan used to pin a strip of fat on the carcass of a young deer or rabbit for cooking. The teeth, however, were not wooden and probably not even bone: the girl bit off a piece of stone and crushed it with her teeth, then swallowed it. Between her teeth, there were silvery sparks. Then she closed her mouth somehow, and at the same time, her face assumed a normal appearance.  
\- Hello, - Nan said, not knowing why.  
\- Hello, - said the girl.  
\- So... how it was? - Nan asked.  
\- It was so delicious, - the girl sighed. - A whole caravan... people, treasures... - she said in a good, though somewhat old-fashioned, Quenya.  
\- And which is the best, gems or… people? - Nan asked.  
\- How can I explain? - The girl spread her hands. - People are delicious, but it's like ... well, I do not know if you can compare it to human food, it's like... well, if you eat grass or leaves all the time. Formally, it’s food, but it would not satisfy a Man, since a Man is not a rabbit. For the taste, it depends: some Elves are very sweet, but you would not eat cream puffs all the time, either.  
The girl tore a diamond from a tip of the tiara.  
\- It's a good faceting, - she approved. – A Nargothrond work. Of course, the faceting does not matter much, but the uncut stones are unpleasant. Like nuts in the shell.  
\- Did you have enough for now? - Nan asked: her curiosity was quite reasonable.  
\- Enough, but it's not for long, - the girl gloomily observed the second half of the sapphire.  
\- You're Ungoliant, are you not? - Nan asked. The girl nodded and picked up the second diamond. - Why do you look like that now?  
\- Sometimes this shape is more convenient for eating, - answered Ungoliant. - Such a fine work is better to be dismantled with fingers and chewed carefully, so it tastes better and lasts longer.  
\- Are you hungry all the time? - Nan suddenly felt sorry for her.  
\- Yes, - she answered. – Always. It's so very... very hard. It’s bad. Everything inside me turns upside down. It feels like you're melting or just about to cry, but you can not.  
\- Why did _he_ call you to Arda, if he was not going to feed you? I understand you quarreled or a sort of, but – that’s simply not done!  
Ungoliant sighed: it was a strange, vibrating sound, which seemed to make the bloodied bones shiver and resounded with a ringing in the stones around them.  
\- I'm so sorry, I did not kill him, - said Ungoliant. - I’m so sorry, I did not kill him. I could not. Why did I listen to him? He promised me a lot.  
\- And how did you live before? - Nan asked.  
\- There ... outside of Arda. There are such things in the Void... Well, it’s not “things”, it’s things from that your “things” are made – a sort of dust or sparks. Perhaps, like tiny diamonds. And there are rays: the rays that are dense and heavy, they feel like stones here, they penetrate inside you and saturate you... I do not know how to explain. There are many different lights, and there is no end to it. Here everything is different.  
\- How could he? - said Nan disapprovingly. - He must have known that there was not enough food for you in this world.  
Unholiant had bitten off one more diamond, the third one.  
\- Melkor thinks only of himself, - she answered. – He just cannot be honest.  
\- He promised to give you the Silmarils, right? - Nan asked.  
\- Yes, he promised. Now I understand that they would not have satisfied me, either, but then I really wanted to. I think the Silmarils are not real; in a sense, they are not the same as real stones, they are Fëanor’s... work. I think I would not be satisfied. Although the Trees from which they were made were delicious, I do not know why. However, I would not say that I was full after killing and eating them, either.  
\- I feel sorry for Finwë ... - Nan dared to inject. - I knew him before he left for Valinor.  
\- Finwë...? - asked Ungoliant. - Finwë... Was he the Elven king who had the Silmarils in his house? Yes, he must have been very handsome when he was alive - such delicate lily-white hands – and his blood smelled so sweet.  
\- Melkor wanted to kill him from the very beginning, - Nan began.  
\- Melkor? - said Ungoliant. - Melkor did not kill him. His relatives have killed him. I believe, however, Melkor asked one of them to do it. The king was dead when we came to the treasury.  
\- It’s impossible! - exclaimed Nan. - Did you see it yourself?  
\- Of course, I saw it. Well, would I deceive you? - said Ungoliant. - I've eaten twenty-three sentient beings now, so why would I lie about whether Melkor murdered one Elf or not? If I tell you Melkor did not kill him, it means he did not.  
\- So how did Finwë die? Noldor say that were you and Morgoth... no, excuse me, Melkor, - the Elf corrected herself.  
\- Come on, for me he is Morgoth, too, - waved Ungoliant, breaking another diamond. - Enemy of the World, who else is he. So what do they tell?  
\- They say that when Melkor came with you from the southern shore of Valinor, from the land of Avatar, you’ve killed the Valinor trees, and then you caught up with Melkor and you both went in a cloud of darkness to the North, to Formenos. There Melkor fought with Finwë, the king of the Noldor, and killed him, robbed the house and treasury and took the Silmarils, and then you went farther North with him.  
\- It was not so, - replied Ungoliant. - When Melkor lured me out of the cave in the lands of the Avatar, we first went north to Formenos. It was very early in the morning. We were surrounded by a dark cloud, and no one saw us. We stopped with him in a ravine by the road and Melkor said: "Wait." I did not know what we were waiting for, but we waited. It started to rain, it began to get colder; everything around went dark. Maybe it was all because we were sitting here, although the Unlight was only over me and Melkor. I felt like something there that smelled like carrion. Melkor once walked away from me and went out on the road; I think he was talking to someone there, but he did not go away from me for more than twenty Elven steps. I would have felt if it was more, and the royal house, where the jewels were, was very far away, the tower on it was hardly visible from there. Then there seemed to be a flashing and Melkor said that it was time to go south to Valimar. In Valimar I’ve destroyed both Trees. My strength became incredible than; I’ve looked around and noticed that Melkor had disappeared. My thinking, you know, at that time was very good, too. So I thought: why did Melkor wait so long on the road and why had he not approached the royal house? If he had been given something on the road, I would have probably smelled it or saw it. Hence, it meant that he had to return North to collect the treasures. I went after him; I already knew the way well. I caught up with him before the place where we waited in the morning. It took, probably, as much time as we are talking here. Of course, he was not particularly pleased - for once the Trees were gone and there was darkness all around, my cloud was no longer necessary to him. Nevertheless, until we left Valinor, he tried to stay close to me - he was still afraid of the descendants of Finwë. Together we went around the house and saw the door of the treasury: mind you, Melkor and me were together all the time. The light was on. The door was open. The Elven king lay on the threshold, and his head was smashed completely.  
\- Who else could smash it, if not your Morgoth with his hammer? - Nan asked.  
\- Well, girl... what's your name?  
\- I am Nan.  
\- Look, Nan, his head was smashed to pieces with the casket that used to contain the Silmarils. The casket was already open and it was also broken. The lid fell off, and one of the walls, too. Then Melkor took from the treasury another casket, in which there were two bracelets. They were shining like the Trees: one was golden, and in it was a stone with the light of Laurelin, the other was silver, and shone like Telperion. He threw the bracelets away and put the Silmarils in their place. Then he went to search the house. He was very fast; in the meanwhile, I barely had time to eat a few gems from the shelves in the treasury. Then we left. I think Melkor never took those bracelets.  
\- How? Why? ... Could Melkor have asked someone in Finwë's house, could he order to do it? And this... creature did it while you were waiting there in the morning? - Nan answered in a startled voice. - The Noldor says that Fëanor called Melkor a thief and criminal even before he killed Finwë ... The whole House of Finwë hated him ... or not? ..  
\- Melkor knows how to lure his allies and find convincing arguments, - said Ungoliant. - For me it was hunger and fear; although now I'm not afraid of Melkor. Someone could kill not because of hunger but because Melkor persuaded him to. He can make a lust inside you grow, and especially an envy, because he himself is burning with envy, like no other.  
-I still do not understand ... - Nan said.  
The Elf wanted to say "I can not believe", but than she started to consider.  
"Morgoth is a liar," she said to herself. "We all know he's a liar. Nobody knows how Finwë was actually killed. At that moment Melkor and Ungoliant were not in Formenos. Everyone thinks that if Melkor is proud of such villainy, then this story must be true. However, he could lie about this as well".  
Nan recalled that many years ago she came to the great feast, Mereth Aderthad, the Feast of Reuniting, which Fingolfin arranged for all the Elves of Middle-earth. She and Ëol, in their gray cloaks, were inconspicuous among the Sindar. However, a Noldo near the throne platform bowed with reverence, recognizing the Firstborn Elves and invited them to come closer. Nan asked him to tell her who is who.  
She remembered the faces and names that sounded in the hall; in conversations of the Sindar Elves, the names of the Noldor princes were transformed and reinterpreted from Quenya to Sindarin: Turucáno as “Turgon”, Macalaurë as “Maglor”, Findaráto as “Finrod”...  
One of them deceived the others. Perhaps, not one but two of them?  
They all believed that they came here to take revenge on Finwë's murderer.  
Now the one who smashed Finwë's head with the casket, that used to contain the fatal stones, perhaps sat with them at the same table, smiling, passing on a saltcellar and swearing when fat dripped on his – or her – silk sleeve, just like everybody else.  
Now, after hearing the words of Unholiant, Nan thought that for those of them who were innocent, it would be unbearably painful to find out that a brother, son, daughter or sister turned into a monster. Then they could start to live on with their eyes open. Now Melkor's lie covered everyone, like a cloak, like a black veil, and they were roaming helplessly in the dark - as if the terrible day, when Melkor and Ungoliant deprived them of the Light, lasted for centuries.  
\- Ungoliant... tell me, please, how it all looked. How it all exactly looked. Was the casket covered in blood? Was Finwë armed? Where was the light inside the treasury?  
Ungoliant broke off a diamond, then another. Now Nan heard a soft crunching sound - apparently, she began to eat more hurriedly. Then she looked at Nan as if she wanted to apologize.  
\- If you start thinking, you need more food. Nowadays I do not think at all. I used to think a lot when I lived outside Arda. It was interesting. Even there, in Valinor, when I was hiding, too. You say – if he was armed. I remember it well. He was wearing an armor, but a helmet was nowhere to be found. I would wear a helmet, if I came out to fight someone. Finwë had a cut on his neck, right here, - she showed it on her own neck, - a casket would not have made such a cut. In addition, Nan, he wore a white shirt, very long, below his knees, and there was a chain mail, also long, up to the knees. The shirt was white, and on the shirt’s neckline was an embroidered gold star with sixteen rays and on the chain mail on his chest, there was a star with eight rays. Above the entrance to the treasury, there was a shining lantern, and another lantern stood on the shelf at the entrance. From the road, I saw lights in two or three windows in the house, but at our approach, the light went out. Judge for yourself. You asked why. Morgoth was afraid of the Firstborn Elves and he was afraid of their children, those who were born at the shores of Lake Cuiviénen. All Calaquendi and especially the Noldor love to speak of the Light of the Trees, of the Light of the Blessed Realm, in which their souls and bodies were nurtured. But there is nothing like the radiance of the eyes of those who woke up by the Lake and saw the first rays of the Sickle of Valacirca and the true face of Varda Tintallë, Varda the Kindler. Morgoth never killed any of the Firstborn: he only abducted, deceived and attracted them to his side. If he wanted to kill you, for example, he would also send me or someone else. And he was also afraid of Finwë, who was the son of one of the first three pairs of Elves. Perhaps, he believed, that if the first Elves were actually created by Eru himself, the Creator would know if anyone of them was harmed, although, to my mind, it does not make much sense.  
Ungoliant took half of a sapphire in her mouth; it emitted an odd, radiant light behind her teeth, then went out and disappeared.  
\- You must go already, probably, - said Ungoliant. - You understand it yourself. I will take the road to the west, then to the wastelands. If you go east, you will not see me again today. Maybe there you will find something to put in your basket.  
\- I thought you'd eat me, - Nan snapped.  
\- No, I'd rather eat myself, - sighed Ungoliant. This sigh was also weird, and again it seemed that a moaning resounded inside the stones.  
Ungoliant looked at her own skinny arm and bit off a piece of her wrist. Inside, as Nan noticed, there was not real meat and bones, but something that looked like jelly; looking closer, she realized that it was something very similar to a stone - like a pink granite with small dim bits of mica.  
\- How it is? - Nan asked.  
\- By and large it's palatable, but it can not last long this way.  
Nan got up and ran along the road, faster and faster. She stumbled over one of the bloodied skeletons and saw that on her gray stockings a dark wet spot. Climbing the hillock, she looked back and saw a large and distorted black shadow disappearing into the rocks in the North.

*** 

\- Nan, why did not you tell this any of us before? - Turgon asked, but then he understood it himself.  
\- You can only tell it to the one who surely did not do it, - Ela answered for her, - or it wouldn’t make any sense.  
\- I've been pretty much sure about you before, - Nan said, - but I could not get to you, of course. Now, after meeting you and speaking to you, I firmly believe that it was not you, Cáno.  
\- Why? Why did he lie? - asked Penlod, not addressing anyone.  
\- Melkor loves to lie, - Turgon said grimly. - Unlike Sauron, Melkor likes to tell meaningless lies, regardless of whether it does him any good. He is just pleased to see that everyone around is deceived. In addition, he probably enjoys what the one who killed Finwë is going through. Discovering his or her crime, Morgoth could make this person his obedient puppet. It was very useful for him that only he and the murderer knew the truth. Well, or perhaps the three of them, if there were two murderers.  
\- Forgive me for what I'm saying right now, please, Turgon... but it seems to me that the sons of Fëanor... They hate Melkor, really. None of them could follow his orders. No one. They even refused to negotiate with him when he captured their older brother. They swore not to negotiate with him... - said Penlod. His hands trembled, he was afraid of offending Turgon, but could not remain silent. - I remember that, I was still with them then.  
\- It could serve for the murderer’s advantage, Penlod, - Turgon replied. - If they do not have any deals with Melkor, then the connection between of one of them and Melkor doesn’t have much chance to come out - otherwise it might be discovered. You say that you were present when Fëanor learned of Finwë's death. You were on the top of hill of Túna, when Fëanor addressed the Noldor with a speech; I came there, too. Do you remember what Fëanor literally said? I do not. I read several versions of his Oath, recorded by various Noldor. Most versions were collected by your nephew Pengolodh. None of them coincides completely with what I heard. But it is not important. The terms of the Oath are very dubious and flawed. They vowed to "pursue with vengeance and hatred" the owner of the Silmarils - explain to me, please, how all this time, all these five hundred years that have passed since the theft of the Silmarils and Finwë's murder, Caranthir and especially Curufin and Celegorm, and Amrod, too, have “pursued” Melkor? If Caranthir, buying an emerald or ordering a belt buckle from Ëol, could consider that at the same time he was "pursuing" Morgoth, he could well be in correspondence with him or receive orders from him, even if he indeed, as he was obliged by his oath, "hated" him. Perhaps, at the same time this person justified himself, believing that doing that he was getting closer to Melkor to take his vengeance. According to one version, Fëanor swore that he would kill the owner of the Silmarils: “death we will deal him ere Day's ending”, or, to put in simply, “unto the end of days”. When will it happen? In another five hundred years? A thousand? Ten thousand? We are immortal. Fëanor and the sons of Fëanor swore that nothing “shall defend” the Silmarils’s owner “from wrath and hate” - how can anyone understand this, Penlod? It's just as if I swore that I'll come to your room and you'll be there and not close the door from inside - you can be in your room or not be there, and you can lock or not lock the door - it does not depend on me. I would really like to think that this entire story is not true, but...  
Penlod looked at Nan, gloomy and suspicious.  
\- No, Penlod, do not think so badly of us. Melkor could have killed us, but he could not deprive us of his free will. Nath went to Gorthaur voluntarily, - Nan said. - Children, we could not deceive any of you. Then…  
\- Besides, Nan, we saw the crystal chest ourselves, and Penlod realized that the caskets were swapped, because he knew what the real casket looks like, the one that was smashed - and I realized that I saw the lock that belonged to the real one, - Turgon said. He told the girls about the conversation with Sauron and Nathron.  
\- There is some good in this, - said Ela. -You see, Gorthaur is now on your side. He also wants to know how the Silmarils were stolen and Finwë murdered, and it is good for him that you both remain alive and safe, and away from Melkor, so that he can at any time bring you to confront the killer. So you are both safe now and you do not have to be afraid of the murderer and his – or her – machinations.  
\- I've never been afraid before, - Turgon snorted. - And Penlod does not know much about it, so...  
\- You should be afraid, knowing that the lock was preserved in your family, - Ela answered. – Perhaps not only you have seen the lock, and certainly many people have seen the bag...  
Penlod did not say anything. He silently looked at the shoes that Nan had given him and on the wooden floor.  
\- Thank you, - Turgon said, washing down the last of his porridge with water (he managed to extend his breakfast for all this time), - we'll try to settle in our room, and then you'll tell us what else we need for dinner, okay?

*** 

\- Look, - said Turgon, when they were alone, - it all sounds very neat, but I do not understand one thing. If Finwë was killed by the person with whom Melkor was talking on the road, and this actually happened before the killing of both Trees, why the lamp at the entrance to the treasure was lit, and the lamp on the shelf, too? Does it mean that my grandfather went to the treasury, when Valinor was already enveloped in darkness?  
\- No, - Penlod waved his hand. - You lived in Tirion, and probably did not visit Formenos, at least not for a long time. Ungoliant said that when they came to Formenos early in the morning, it rained and the rain lasted all day. There, in the North, it was always very cloudy, and even the light of Laurelin not always could penetrate through the clouds and fog. If there was a heavy rain, then in order to read, one would need to light a lamp. Finwë's apartments faced the southeast, they were very well lit, and there were huge windows. The treasury was on the north-west side of the house. It was always dark there. It was a half-enclosed courtyard. The door to the treasury was in the courtyard and was visible from Fëanor's workshop. If I am not mistaken, the rooms of all the younger members of the family also faced the north courtyard. To get into the treasury, you had to go twelve steps down. By the order of Fëanor, the lamp above the door was often lit on cloudy days so that the steps could always be seen. Moreover, the flight of stairs was steep and in the rain, I would not go down to the treasury without a lamp, even if the lantern was lit above the entrance.  
\- It's a pity that we can not ask Ungoliant to describe the house in detail, - Turgon bit his lip. – It is likely that the murderer is the one whose windows were lighted, the one who stayed home when the other brothers went hunting.  
\- Do not think that I'm making excuses for your cousins, Turgon, - Penlod said, - but someone who stayed home or came back much earlier than the others could not notice anything at once. He could just read by candlelight, got carried away and not immediately realize that behind the windows there was no longer just fog and rain, but a complete darkness. When he saw it, he was, perhaps, frightened and put out the light or left his room with a lamp to see what’s going on.  
\- It’s a pity that we can not ask her to describe the lamp on the shelf, - Turgon sighed.  
\- Yes, - said Penlod.  
They both had the same thought. Almost every Elf had his own little lantern, in the light of which it was possible to read in one’s room or to sit at night in a garden under flowering trees. In addition, most lanterns were unique, with distinctive patterns and inserts of colored glass, sometimes made of amethysts, chrysoprases or other translucent gemstones. The lamp belonging to Penlod did not survive the trip to Beleriand, forgotten on a burned ship, but Penlod remembered it so well: it was a gift from Turgon, and its glass shimmered with green, blue and crystal opal shine.  
Penlod added more firewood into the hearth and continued to sort out their things.  
At the bottom of the bag was the same dictionary of Quenya that Sauron had given him. There was another book, in another, green binding. Penlod opened it. It turned out that this was the second volume of the dictionary. This time the handwriting was completely unfamiliar to Penlod. It was the small, neat handwriting of a diligent, obedient Noldo student: a bit like Finrod’s or Indis’s, only smaller and rounder.  
The volume seemed to open by itself on the word _vanda_ , "oath".

*** 

\- It's still strange to think that now Gorthaur needs us, - said Penlod, putting under their pillow an embroidered nightgown for Turgon.  
\- Well, I guess it's not so bad, - Turgon shrugged. - I wonder what Gorthaur will say when he finds out that I've deceived him.  
Penlod stared at his king in bewilderment. Turgon waved it off.  
\- Well, maybe he will not find out, - Turgon replied to Penlod’s unspoken question and lay down on the bed. - Forgive me, I'm very tired. I do not want to think about all those unpleasant things now.  
Penlod did not want to think about all this, either.  
Ungoliant’s story, the behavior of Melkor, the visit to Gorthaur's workshop - and a conversation with Turgon's younger brother, Aracáno which took place ages ago in Fingolfin’s house in Tirion…  
A disgusting picture started to form in his head – and he would prefer to believe that all this was a nightmare.

  



	14. Let Him Be Happy (Conclusion to Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- You do not know how to cook, - Ëolin said. - It's some kind of disgusting gruel again.  
> \- Go and cook for yourself, - Maeglin snapped.  
> \- But I'm your father, - Ëolin answered. - You have to take care of me. Cooking for me and all that.  
> Maeglin turned to Ëolet and the second boy said:  
> \- But I'm your child, are you going to make me cook for you?

\- I think it's necessary to insulate the door here ... perhaps I’ll have to hang a second door, - said Penlod. - Or perhaps I shall build a small hallway and cut off a part of the gallery, if Ela and Nan would not mind.  
\- What for? Turgon asked.  
\- Winter is coming, - said Penlod. – Of course, it’s still autumn, but this morning I saw frost on the leaves and grass. The winters are so cold nowadays.  
\- Do you want to stay here?  
\- But what else can we do, Turondo? To go anywhere else may be very dangerous... Especially if we try to get to the West, to join our Gondolin refugees: it’s even more dangerous...  
Turgon got up and went to the small window; he, as it was usual for him during a difficult conversation, was looking somewhere into the distance.  
\- You can leave, Penlod, I'm sure. They say your nephew, Pengolod, is safe and of course, he will gladly receive you, - Turgon said.  
\- What are you talking about? - Penlod’s legs gave way, and he sat down on the bed. - Are you trying to dismiss me?  
\- I am not dismissing you, Penlod - no way. I just want you to understand one thing. I'm not going to leave this place. I would like to stay here until the end of the days. I never want to see anyone again. Maybe, on the orders of Gorthaur, I may be forcibly dragged out of here, but now it seems to me that he will rather keep me in reserve just in case, like a precious thing that may be needed one day, and which no one actually will ever use. I cannot ask you to stay with me. You can leave, you can see your nephew again, our old friends, everyone... Nothing especially bad happened to you, Penlod. You were just a prisoner... Well, actually you spent a few nights with Nathron ... oh, how I hate, how much I hate him! - Turgon cried out suddenly: he tried to keep his voice as low as he could – but still it was a muffled, desperate scream. – Naineth and Elring praise him all the time, they feel sorry for him, but I hate him for what he did to you! Ëol’s lover – how I hate him!..  
\- Turgon, listen... I would hate him too, but in truth – now I cannot. Still, he did a lot for you, and for me. First of all, it was he who wanted to let us go. I lived with him side by side, for almost six months... Believe me, he is not a monster. Do not think that I am trying to find an excuse for him: he made me suffer, but now I do not hate him myself. I am not…  
Penlod thought he shouldn’t say this – Turgon caught up his last words and said:  
\- Are you not like me? Yes, Penlod, that is true. Everything I went through, everything I became… Now I can never face anyone I knew – I’ve already told you. I will never leave this place. And, Penlod… if you tell me after a few years you want to leave – I may not survive it. It’s better for you to leave now, than.  
Penlod hopelessly loved him for many years. He continued to love him during these terrible last months of his pregnancy, tormented by fear and pain for his beloved, by the consciousness of everything that happened to Turgon; he loyally, selflessly cared for Turgon when the only reward was an opportunity to kiss his feet or his hand when he allowed it.  
This “leave how” was more than he could handle.  
\- _Turincë..._ Do you know what was most terrible for me? I still loved you these first six months in prison, when I believed that you were no more, thinking that we would not see each other again in this life and I was unlikely to see you anytime soon in the Halls of Mandos. I fell asleep and woke up thinking about you. The most terrible was the moment when I realized that I would be dishonored and I would never be able to look in your eyes. I hope I have been useful all this time; In fact, I would be willing to take care of you all my life. If you do not want me to stay with you in this house - I will live in the courtyard, behind the fence, - oh please! I understand that you were with me to hurt Maeglin – and, perhaps, his master. If you think that I will ever ask about this again - no, I will not ask, I've already got it. You can forget about my love for you, about my confession - now I myself wish I did not confess. The only thing ... Remember that you can cause me much more pain than if I were just a friend. Now your words would be very painful even for a friend.  
\- You are trying to tell me that I do not love you; - Penlod saw that Turgon's lips were trembling and his mouth was twisting. - If I did not love you, I would not carry your child now.  
\- It cannot be, - Penlod sighed soundlessly.  
Sometimes he could be a little angry with Turgon, but now for the first and only time in his life he wanted to hit him.  
\- How could you?! How could you want me to leave – to leave our child? So I would never ever know that I have a child... how?!  
Turgon desperately covered his face with his hands.  
Penlod rushed to him, embraced; Penlod's hands glided over his back, sides, hips; Penlod knelt before him on the earthen floor.  
\- So it means, that day I’ve got it all right. Now you hate me because you will go through this torment again, because I’ve got you pregnant. But please... will you let me take care of you, to help you to raise our child – or at least to look at the child? Turgon?  
\- P-p-pardon me... - he replied, falling into Penlod’s arms; Penlod sat him on his lap and kissed him, at first quite timidly, then passionately, again and again. - It's just that I was so afraid that now when we are free, you may not want to be my... life companion.  
\- I want only this, only this, nothing more, nothing else. I do not want to see anyone; I do not want to leave! - cried Penlod. – You told me you needed time; or course, for all this year I will be the most modest and chaste companion for you, I will take care of you, I will do anything for you, you will not have to move a finger! Just let me kiss you sometimes, kiss your hands, and...  
\- I do not mind “and”, you know, - Turgon said, smiling through his tears.  
\- It's like an engagement year, is it? - said Penlod.  
Turgon nodded and laid his head on his lover’s shoulder.  
“It may be the happiest year of my life”, he thought. “Despite everything”.  
\- Children, we have to chop wood, - Nan shouted. - Cáno, could you help me to crush the chestnuts?  
\- I will do it myself! All of it, – cried Penlod. – He needs a rest.  
He laid his king on the bed with the same reverence and care, as all the previous excruciating months there, in Angband, not heeding to his protests ("of course I can crush something in a mortar, why not?").

Turgon looked at the ceiling; on the ceiling hung another tapestry - it was a veil with a pattern of pearly constellations, a piece of sky glowing from inside. He heeded to himself and thought:  
_“Who are you? Do I know you?_  
_No, I do not know you..._  
_Let's get acquainted..._  
_Are you a boy?_  
_How can I call you?”_  
He remembered that absurd phrase – “she is in a family way", “she conceived” ( _En gwiniel na giol_ ), which was haunting him more than a year ago. Now he smiled.  
"Let me call you _Gilfânon,_ conceived under a white cover", Turgon told himself.  
He felt sleepy, and pulled the blanket over.  
“Let him who was protecting and loving me all this time be happy...” 

*** 

For Maeglin, of course, the twins were Ëol, and he could not call them otherwise, but it was necessary to distinguish them somehow. He began to call them simply _Ëol-inga_ and _Ëol-tatya_ \- Ëol the First and Ëol the Second, but these names were quickly shortened to Ëolin and Ëolet.  
Much to Maeglin's embarrassment, almost as soon as they started talking, it turned out that both children were perfectly aware who they were and both could very well remember everything that Ëol remembered and knew. Sauron believed that this was due to the strange circumstances of their conception - he had summoned Ëol’s spirit and trapped it in a wax doll, which he then forced Turgon to eat.  
Honestly, it did not matter much for Maeglin.  
It was terrible.  
Maeglin did not know how Ëol behaved himself as a child, or, more accurately, how he could behave: after all, Ëol was a Firstborn Elf, he was born into this world as an adult so as a child he did not behave in any way.  
However, Ëolin and Ëolet were much more critical, arrogant and scornful than Maeglin’s adult father was - and besides there were two of them.  
And yes, they were his sons.

\- You do not know how to cook, - Ëolin said. - It's some kind of disgusting gruel again.  
\- Go and cook for yourself, - Maeglin snapped.  
\- But I'm your father, - Ëolin answered. - You have to take care of me. Cooking for me and all that.  
Maeglin turned to Ëolet and the second boy said:  
\- But I'm your child, are you going to make me cook for you?  
\- Our mother Turgon could cook perfectly, all the former residents of Gondolin say this, - Ëolin continued with a kind of malicious satisfaction. - He treated the Gondolin lords with pastries, gave away gingerbread and cookies...  
Maeglin definitely could not remember any gingerbread and, moreover, any giveaways of cookies - apparently, the memories of Gondolin of those who lived there, over the years became more and more rosy. Well, the pastries in his uncle's house were always fine, and he suspected that Turgon indeed cooked them himself.  
\- It's incredible! You've lived in a Noldorin house for so many years and have not learned anything, - Ëolet said. - You cannot even cook an ordinary porridge.  
\- I thought I had to learn from _you_ , - Maeglin said.  
\- I'm just a forest Elf, - Ëolet said, - and they're all so _learned_.- It was not me who did the cooking and sewing in our house, you know.  
\- It was you who made our mother Turgon leave us, - Ëolin continued to have it his own way. - It's all because of you.  
\- But my mother abandoned you, too! - Maeglin exclaimed, pushing his plate away angrily.  
\- I should not have to bring her into the house, - Ëolin said. - I'd rather have a Noldo lord as a mate. Take, for example, Celegorm. He is prettier, taller and cooks much better. He also often rode for a hunt past me. To be honest, I was already thinking... but, to my misfortune, I wanted to have an heir.  
\- Papa, - exclaimed Maeglin, almost tearfully, - do you mean I should not have been born at all? Are you making fun of me?!  
\- Yes, I'm making fun of you, - Ëolin answered.  
\- No, I mean it, - Ëolet said, shaking his head.

__END OF PART ONE_ _


	15. Interlude: Visions and Nightmares + Synopsis of Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Well, how about you, how? - asked Melkor demandingly.  
> \- I submit to you, - he said hoarsely. - I give in to you. I will do everything you want. All that you want. You are the King of Arda. You are the Lord of this world.  
> Melkor looked at him gravely. He smiled no longer.  
> \- I admit that if such things can happen in this World, then truly its master is you.  
> \- All right, - said Melkor.  
> \- But I have one condition...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an introduction to the rest of the story: in the end I give a Synopsis of Chapters 1-14. If you don't like the non-con / mpreg part, you may start with this chapter.

**A nightmare inside a nightmare**

He was the worst one.  
The most merciless.  
Everybody knew this.  
In truth, he never loved anyone.  
Perhaps, Melkor believed they were alike.  
\- I do not know why you brought me here, - he said. Everything inside him was trembling with cold; it seemed to him that he would not survive it, but he stood here, frozen, unmoving. - I will not give up. I will not surrender to you. Do what you want.  
\- You think I'm going to do what I want to do to you? - Melkor asked. He leaned back, first put his foot on the armrest of his throne, and then suddenly somehow moved his legs and stood on the throne on his knees, like a nasty child who climbed into his father's chair. - You are very beautiful, you know. Nobody appreciates beauty more than I do. I could not do so much evil, as you call it, in so many different ways, if I did not feel beauty so keenly. When I look at your skin, your eyelashes, your radiant eyes, your hands - I go crazy at the thought that it was not me who created you. I want to tear out your eyes and put the two damned stones in their place. - Melkor removed his crown, which had lost one of its ornaments, and turned it on his long finger. - After all, it would be even more beautiful, right? The Silmarils are so much like eyes. They seem to look at you. This jewels - they burn, do you know this?  
\- They burn you, - he said, - because you are a thief, a liar, and a murderer.  
\- And you? Who are you now? - Melkor laughed. - Believe me; they'll burn you to the brain, if you ever dare to wear them. But I do not want to get them out. After all, Mairon tried so hard, inserting them into my crown. You're not a coward, are you?  
\- True, - he answered.  
\- Do you want to see something? - Melkor asked. - Something very special... True, it may be completely irrelevant for you, I think. I just want to know how you like it.  
He descended from his throne and held out his long hand in a black glove to his guest. The glove was made from strange, very thin, glittering sheets of metal.  
\- Let's go, than? - Melkor said almost cheerfully.  
Melkor pulled him further into the hall, behind his throne. He pressed on something, and at his feet, a trapdoor opened. The Silmarils in Melkor’s crown illuminated the staircase, casting strange, iridescent spots of light on the high stone steps, which led steeply down. He did not count the steps, but the descent was so long! It seemed to him that they had went below the bottoms of the rivers, below the deepest chasms, below the sea.  
All the way Melkor was laughing.  
When they were descending, his companion saw only the bright, undamaged part of his face - white skin, laughing lips, a bright green eye. Melkor pulled him down, smiling, as if the guest was his younger brother for whom a wonderful surprise was prepared.  
Finally, the staircase was over.  
Melkor snapped his fingers, and above and around them fires were kindled. The fiery ring illuminated something like the balcony on which they stood; this balcony encircled a round chamber with stone floor. From the balcony an iron-forged staircase led down. The balcony was not very high: a high Elf could easily reach out from the hall to the floor of the balcony, and, for example, Thingol could even have a look inside.  
Melkor pulled his guest away: they stood beside one of the thick stone pillars that supported the ceiling above the balcony, and smiled even more slyly and more cheerfully.  
\- Look, - he said.  
On the floor in the middle of the hall lay a corpse of a Noldo Elf – at least, he had Noldorin armor and weapons. His hair was braided in two very long black tresses. The body was a dry shell of skin, a mummy, - but the Elf's features could still be faintly discerned. How long he lay there - it was difficult to say.  
\- Do you think I have not seen the corpses before? - he asked Melkor.  
Melkor laughed and leaned toward him; it seemed to him that Melkor wanted to rub his healthy, rosy cheek against his guest’s face or clothes: his mien was gentle as a kitten’s.  
\- Well, look at him closer! What was the cause of his death?  
The body was strangely crumpled; the skin of the fingers was half gone and falling away, but he realized that in the last moments of his life the Elf convulsively pressed his hands to his face. Dying, he tried not to see.  
\- He died of fear, - he told Melkor.  
Melkor almost jumped with joy.  
\- Exactly! But you wouldn’t care, you are not afraid of anything, right? You’ll just have a look, that's all.  
Melkor somehow skipped past him and pushed him behind the column. Now he saw another half of his face, distorted and torn: it also smiled.  
\- Stay here and be quiet, - Melkor said. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers again. The fire became softer and a little rosier; it almost went out. Melkor made another movement with his hand, and a crack appeared in the floor. It turned out that not far from the Elf corpse in the floor there was a lid - a round lid the size of a lid from a small barrel. It was not far from the balcony, and he thought that if it opened, he would be able to see well what was under it.  
The lid moved away. It turned out that beneath it there was an abyss, glowing with weak, iridescent green light. It must have been some kind of underground river, perhaps, a cave full of diamond and emerald crystals, maybe both. The glow was beautiful. Nevertheless, the well was partially closed: on a distance of a cubit or more down from the floor of the chamber there was an iron grate inside. And on this grate...  
_…on the grate..._  
He kept looking. He did not know how much time had passed. Green lights from below and scarlet flares on the ceiling were enough for him to see.  
Melkor looked at him (he could feel his look) and giggled softly.  
It seemed to him that everything he saw - torches, columns, the well, the stairs - split and went in different directions.  
All that he had seen so far in his life was melting, untwisting and disbanding - the face of his father, the dagger in his own trembling hand, and the mountains of dead bodies - and Melkor's laughter was over everything. Everything broke, everything crashed, leading him to _this ._  
Finally, Melkor made sure that the lid was in place.  
\- You liked this, have you not? - Melkor asked.  
He did not answer.  
\- You disappoint me. Should I leave you here?  
He silently climbed the stairs. Into this ascent, he put the last efforts of his exhausted body, hoping that this unbearable exertion would kill him somewhere in the middle of the stairs, and he would lie dead on the steps, terrifying another guests of Melkor. If there would be any.  
However, he got to the top. He lay, powerless, on the floor of the throne room and beside him stood Melkor. Black locks fell on Melkor's face, and he again saw his beautiful smile, his white forehead and his pink blushing cheek.  
\- Well, how about you, how? - asked Melkor demandingly.  
\- I submit to you, - he said hoarsely. - I give in to you. I will do everything. All that you want. You are the King of Arda. You are the Lord of this world.  
Melkor looked at him gravely. He smiled no longer.  
\- I admit that if such things can happen in this World, then truly its master is you.  
\- All right, - said Melkor.  
\- But I have one condition.  
\- Of course, - Melkor said. - I know. This is reasonable, and your services are worth it. I'll call Mairon now. It's better if he does it. 

**A dream within a dream**

He was sleeping.  
The dream was light, airy, like the blue sky, like white clouds, like light stalks of tall grass. As was the last absolutely happy morning in his life - a long, long time ago: only happiness, light and parental love.  
The dream was without pain, fear, despair. He was overwhelmed with a feeling of tenderness, softness; it felt like a chaste embrace of a timid, still unconscious, young love.  
The fragrant, wonderful smells changed like light gusts of the wind - roses, apples, carnations, heavy blossoms of lilacs, young foliage. And the smells of the stones - oh, the stones smell if you rub them, if you cuddle up to them, do not you know? - amber, rosy and azure rays glided through his resting soul.  
Everything was warm, cozy, beautiful, carefully chosen, as ...  
…as if…  
... in a _casket_?  
But sometimes a sharp knife cut into his slumber:  
_Tell me, please..._  
_Tell me something that you have never told anyone ..._  
_Never and to no one ..._  
What could be revealed? Especially at such a moment?  
An innocent prank? A little childish secret? A love secret? A private grief, hidden even from his own loving eyes? A concealed, long-term resentment?  
Anything.  
But not this.  
_Tell me ..._  
The smell of apples. The apples were already cut for a pie – tight green skins, brownish slices. The smell of apple-pie in the sunny kitchen. A bright morning.

A rainy morning. Cold raindrops in his hair.  
The scarf? Where is it?  
... This cloak ...  
... a dark spot on the hem...  
... not _this ..._  
And again the rosy, azure, sapphire light rays of sleep.

**Synopsis of Chapters 1-14**

In the prologue (a hundred years before the events described), an Elf-woman arrives from Valinor to Middle-earth only in order to commit suicide. Círdan the Shipwright is shocked by the incident and says that he will try to punish those who may be responsible for this.

The story begins shortly before the fall of Doriath and Gondolin.  
Maeglin declares to Sauron that he is no longer interested in his cousin Idril, who became the mother of a Man's child: most of all, he would like his father Ëol to be reborn. At the same time, Sauron's assistant named Gwathren is given a task. He goes to Doriath where he must at the same time ensure that the sons of Fëanor survived the battle and prevent them from getting the Silmaril. Gwathren takes the stone away from Celegorm and gives it to Elwing. Under the saddle of Celegorm’s horse Gwathren finds a bag that belongs to Celegorm’s brother - Maedhros.  
King Turgon and one of the Gondolin lords, Penlod, remember the past. Meanwhile, Sauron, whom Maeglin helped to get to the walls of Gondolin, evokes the spirit of Ëol. After the capture of Gondolin, Penlod survives and becomes a slave to another servant of Sauron – Nathron, an Avari Elf. Penlod discovers that Turgon survived, too, but almost lost his mind: Sauron made him to get pregnant by Maeglin, who hoped that his father would be reborn as a result. Penlod is allowed to take care of Turgon, whom he loves desperately. The king gradually comes to his senses and begins to respond to Penlod’s feelings. Turgon realizes that the child he carries is indeed Ëol, the father of Maeglin and he can prove it to Maeglin.  
Gwathren brings to Angband a mysterious golden-haired Elf-girl. Maeglin shows Turgon (and Penlod) the crown of Morgoth and Silmarils. Penlod cannot understand why the stones are not stored in the casket that was originally intended for them. It turns out that the lock from the original casket was kept by Fingon, Turgon’s deceased brother, and that Fingon put the lock in the coffin of their father Fingolfin. Turgon believes that in fact a member of the family killed his grandfather Finwë: he suspects Féanor or one of his children. Penlod is shocked by the suggestion.

Ëol is reborn, but there is not one child, but two – the twin boys. Both of them retain the mind and memory of Ëol. Maeglin wants more children. Penlod and Turgon confess their love to each other.  
Gwathren takes Turgon away from Angband. He makes it clear that the initiator of the escape was Nathron, who has his own reasons to free Turgon and his friend. On the way, Guatren again asks Turgon about Finwë's death. He tells Turgon that he found in Maedros’s bag a necklace that Maedhros received from Fingon.  
Penlod and Turgon arrive to the house of Nathron’s friends - Naineth and Elring, who live in a forest on the border of Doriath. They find out that Nathron and Ëol were the Firstborn Elves, and Naineth and Elring were the wives originally intended for them. However, Nathron fell in love with Ëol, and Naineth with Elring: they have exchanged their partners but remained friends. In the end, Ëol, possessed by an envy of the Noldor and a desire to become one of them, abandoned Natron and perished, sentenced by Turgon to death for the murder of his wife and Turgon’s sister Aredhel. That is why the unhappy Nathron went to the service of Sauron, hoping to take revenge on Turgon and the other Noldor.  
When it came to the murder of Finwë and the Silmarils, it turns out that many years ago Nainet had met Ungoliant, who had assumed the form of an Elf. Ungoliant said that Melkor had a tryst with someone near Formenos, and that she and Melkor had found Finwë already dead: his head was smashed by the Silmarils’s casket, which was also broken. This entire story gives rise Turgon’s blackest suspicions: one of the sons of Fëanor or Fëanor himself could be the killer.  
Turgon admits to Penlod that he expects a child by him and wants to stay here, in the forest, forever: he does not want to return to his friends relatives. Penlod gladly agrees to stay with him.  
A few years later, the two Ëols grow up, and Maeglin regrets his idea...

  



	16. A letter from no one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Fëanor loved his father madly, and if he knew that now he would have to share him with his brothers again, it could drive him insane. Or imagine, for example, that after the departure of Fëanor his sons poisoned their grandfather for their own reasons, and then smashed his head and presented it as an evil act of Melkor...  
> \- Gwathren, there’s one thing I really do not understand, to be honest, - Nathron said. - Melkor kills Finwë and takes the stones - this makes perfect sense. However, if Finwë indeed was killed by one of his grandchildren, then what about the stones? How Melkor got them?  
> 

The window in Sauron’s library was open, and on the windowsill was a small scroll – a letter, pinned by a dart.  
Sauron looked attentively at it; the letter was addressed to “Mairon”, with the addition of “Private and Confidential”.  
Sauron took a large volume from a shelf. It was an album in which he pasted autographs and signatures of kings and nobles, as well as of famous scholars – both Elves and Men. Sauron collected them not because of a purely academic interest: he owned many manuscripts, and always desired to know who wrote a particular codex; moreover, he always wanted to know for sure who wrote letters and other important documents that fell into his hands.  
Sauron flicked through the album and found what he was looking for.  
He raised his eyebrows in surprise, and when he opened the letter and read it, he was surprised even more.

_Dear Gorthaur, Thû, Tar-Mairon, or whatever other name you prefer to call yourself._  
_I start with a confession: it is not me who is writing to you._  
_I know that you can find out to whom the handwriting of any of the more or less famous Elves actually belongs. The hand that wrote this letter is certainly familiar to you. But it's not me. How come, you may ask?_  
_It's very simple - Finwë, the high king of the Noldor, whose handwriting you are reading now, could not read or write. Oh, yes, well, and of course Finwë is dead. However, this is an unimportant detail._  
_When Finwë and his family lived in Tirion, he did not have to write anything to anyone. After he departed to Formenos to live in exile with his son Fëanor, it was already too late for him to study letters. Indeed, his younger sons - Nolofinwë and Arafinwë - regularly received letters from their father, but they were written by another person – or perhaps, two or even three persons, because Finwë’s grandchildren wrote the letters on his behalf and passed them on to his sons and daughters._  
_Why do I write all this to you?_  
_I’ve heard a rumor that you were interested in the casket in which the Silmarils were originally kept, and that you wanted to know more about Finwë’s death. I would like to hint to you that there are other persons who are interested in this matter. Moreover, there could be much more individuals who witnessed what happened than you can imagine._  
_With some respect for you, _

__

__

_Someone-finwe._  
_Or someone-cáno,_  
_Or someone else._

\- Well, what will you make of this? - Sauron asked. – Go ahead.  
\- Do you think Turgon sent this? - Gwathren asked.  
\- At least two Noldor could write me this letter and make sure that it arrived here, - Sauron replied grimly. - Or even three. Or, if you think about it, four. Although in fact there are five, since Melkor should not believe that he could hide something from me. In the end, Melkor himself could write this letter.  
\- By the way, where did you get Finwë’s signature? - asked Gwathren.  
\- We have a document from Nargothrond, - replied Nathron, - the marriage contract of Finrod, or something. There are many signatures on it; I’ve got it.  
\- Yes, - Sauron agreed, - well, it was not exactly a marriage contract, Noldor do not have such a thing, but something of a wedding present - a house or a site for a house. Judging by the date, it was signed by Finwë in Formenos two or three months before his death. This means that, according to the anonymous letter, the signature on the contract is not by Finwë either.  
\- I do not know what the letter hints at, - said Nathron, - but basing on Turgon’s words, we may assume that it is very likely that it was Fingon who was regularly carrying these letters, allegedly from Finwë, to his own father Fingolfin and uncle Finarfin. Fingon was not married, always lived with his father and needed an excuse to see Maedhros, even if they really did not have an affair.  
\- Sounds good, Nathron, - Sauron replied, - but it could have been, for example, Aredhel, who always loved riding far away from home and who might well have stopped by Formenos. In this case, even Maeglin, to whom his mother may have told all this, could write this letter to me: she could show him “Finwë”’s handwriting if she indeed was one of those who wrote letters on his behalf.  
\- Is it that simple? - doubted Natron.  
\- It's a quite childish handwriting, - Sauron shrugged. – A schoolboy’s hand, without any disctnctive features. Small children who do not know how to hold a pen in their hands write like this. An Elf’s handwriting, even a very neat one, can easily be distinguished by lower and upper strokes. This is not so noticeable when you look at the name "Finwë" in the signature, because both letters, _f, formen_ and _nw, nwalme_ are simple in the outline. My own handwriting (when I do not try to change it on purpose) is hard to confuse with someone else’s. I have a very characteristic stroke of _i_ , _z_ 's tail is much shorter than _b_ 's, and so on. And here all the tails are very short, straight, even the _i_ is almost straight, wavy lines are not wavy, but bent almost at an angle. To write like "Finwë", it was enough just to recall one's own first year in a school and write the way you wrote in your class the first two to three months. Unfortunately, the author of the letter is right: it could be anyone. Perhaps it would be more difficult for Maedhros or Maglor to imitate this childish handwriting simply because of their age, but this is also not an argument. In addition, now Maedhros would have to write the letter with his left hand. However, this does not exclude him, since the handwriting of "Finwë" is very simple, and the same person’s handwriting with the left and the right hand can be very similar. Turgon is, of course, the least likely candidate, but I do not exclude him.  
\- Do you really think so, - after Turgon had lost his temper and nearly lost his child because of all this? - said Gwathren.  
\- Gwathren, for you to know, I heard this whole conversation from beginning to end, because I was very interested in how the nephew of Fëanor would react to the sight of the Silmarils, - Sauron replied. - But actually, he was speaking very calmly until I’ve started the talk about his pregnancy, and than he tried to shift the blame on his own brother. Moreover, Turgon insisted that all this time (in particular, when the news came about Finwë's death) he was at home, although nobody asked him about it. I can assume that at least once he could carry a letter, even if he did not write the letters himself... Although, of course, we have an easy way to find out. Did _she_ remember anything else?  
\- No. - Gwathren shook his head. – Nothing more.  
\- Maybe Nathron and me will try… persuade her? – Sauron asked.  
\- No,- said Gwathren resolutely. - I gave an oath, you know.  
\- You still have a weakness for the girls of your tribe, - said Sauron with a mocking smile.  
\- Not only ours, but also for Mannish ones, - Gwathren replied. - Unfortunately, this is the case when I can not _persuade_ anybody.  
\- According to her, - said Sauron, - Finwë there, in the Halls of Mandos, refused to recall this and talk about this at all. This is strange in itself, because if Melkor had killed him, there would be nothing to hide. If Finwë's killer has already died and came in the Halls of Mandos, then, as far as I imagine the situation, there may be two options: first - he did not tell anyone, and Finwë did not give it out because he felt sorry for his murderer. Or Namo found out about all this, and the murderer, most likely, came to a place where he or she had to repent till the end of the world where no one could find him or talk to him or her.  
\- By the way, Fëanor was not seen in the Halls of Mandos either - at least that's what Noldor say, and he was not reborn, either, - Nathron said thoughtfully.  
\- Therefore,- said Sauron, tapping with the scroll on the table, - the truth about Finwë's death is known to Melkor, perhaps to Ungoliant and to the one who killed him.  
\- And Finwë himself, - said Nathron.  
\- You know, - Gwathren sighed, - Finwë may well not know anything: he probably could not see who did it. He can just guess that a relative did it and feel even more bitter because of this. Fëanor himself before his departure to Valimar may have strangled his father in sleep, and the sons of Fëanor then found Finwë's body and they had to invent something to extricate themselves. Remember that Fëanor ought to be forgiven and he and his father probably were supposed to return to Valimar. Fëanor loved his father madly, and if he knew that now he would have to share him with his brothers again, it could drive him insane. Or imagine, for example, that after the departure of Fëanor his sons poisoned their grandfather for their own reasons, and then smashed his head and presented it as an evil act of Melkor. Since Fëanor was so obsessed with the stones, it would be the most natural move to take the Silmarils and...  
\- Gwathren, there’s one thing I really do not understand, to be honest, - Nathron said. - Melkor kills Finwë and takes the stones - this makes perfect sense. However, if Finwë indeed was killed by one of his grandchildren, then what about the stones? How Melkor got them?  
\- Exactly, - replied Sauron. – Let’s take a hypothetical example and present the case as Turgon imagined it. Let’s suppose that Fingon arrived in Formenos for an intimate meeting with Maedhros (we know that at that time they were not lovers, so that the example is purely hypothetical). Let's assume that Finwë had seen them together and his reaction made one of the lovers to kill their grandfather – what’s then? They gave the Silmarils to Melkor, so that he would keep his mouth shut? _Why did Melkor turn up there?_ In that case, he should have known that there would be a murder or a theft, or both. How could he know? Who told him? The murderer had to plan his actions. He either initiated Melkor into his plans, or acted on his orders. The letter hints at the fact that there were witnesses, perhaps - not just one. It’s useless to ask Melkor, he wouldn’t tell me anything. So far I see only one way out: _she_ must meet the possible witnesses and suspects. Maybe they would give themselves away, realizing whom they are dealing with. Will you help me with this, Gwatrhen?  
Gwathren looked at him attentively.  
\- Most likely, they will refuse to receive her. Even if they agree, she will be in great danger. I promised that nothing wrong will happen to her. Besides, there is not a single woman there...  
\- Oh, are you so sure of that? - Gorthaur laughed. - Not a single one? Make them give you an oath - may these folks keep one more oath. They should not care - one more, one less.

***

\- Look, Mairon, - Gwathren said when they were alone. - When you talked to Turgon, you mentioned that it was you who killed Fëanor, and not the balrogs. I’ve heard about this for the first time. We have known each other for a long time, and I can find many reasons why you do not tell about it on every street corner. However, I have long wanted to ask you - why do you even care about Fëanor's death? I can see that you do.  
Sauron looked at him attentively.  
\- Because it was unpleasant for me to do this – and this is very weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, this was a tough one ^.^ I hope my description of Tengwar handwriting is not too confusing))  
> By the way, we all know how Sauron's handwriting looks - I believe the letters of the Ring-inscription must be written by him in person :) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/One_Ring#Inscription  
> 


	17. The Winter Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Have you never met a girl, - said Celegorm, - that you lost your head because of this one? Have you fallen in love, Pityo? Did someone teach you how babies are made?  
> \- What's the matter with you, you rapist? What do you know? - replied Amrod.

  


Maedhros also got a letter: one morning it appeared on his table from nowhere.  
A letter in a large black envelope, sealed with the red and gold seal with an image of a wolf. Maedhros knew that this was Sauron's personal seal.  
The letter was as follows:

" _Nelyafinwë ,_

_I would like you to know that my address to you is dictated by sincere benevolence and I ask you not to show this letter to anyone, including your brothers. I ask you to receive my messenger three days after the receipt of this letter._  
_The messenger will bring a couple of things that may be of interest for you: he must give you something – things that you do not need to have, but which could serve as a pleasant reminder of the past. One of them can be exchanged for another; the second will be yours in any case._  
_Both proposals come from me personally and do not express the will of the one to whom I serve._  
_I must warn you that if you kill or harm my messenger, your brothers, and especially you_ (these two words were heavily underlined), _will be extremely disappointed _ (these two words were also sharply and boldly underlined).  
_Tar-Mairon "._  
  
Maedhros did not show this letter to anyone.  
But he had a feeling that if he did, then Sauron would just play the game differently.  
He could not help but understand what this messenger would talk about. Already for several years, after hearing the confused story of Celegorm about how he lost the Silmaril after holding it in his hands for a few moments, Maedhros had been trying to guess why Sauron needed all this at all. There was only one conclusion: Melkor wanted the Silmaril not to return to his crown, but to remain in the hands of other Elves, so that they, the sons of Fëanor, would stain their hands with yet another kinslaying. Maedhros desperately clasped in his fingers the key of the Silmarils’s casket, which was still hanging on his neck. Now he had only this memory of the past. The pendant he received from his grandfather Finwë he gave to Gil-Galad, and the pendant with a sapphire flower, the pledge of Fingon’s love for him, Celegorm has lost after the attack on Doriath.  
He went downstairs and entered a large semi-circular room with a low ceiling; a crescent-shaped window faced a snow-covered glade surrounded by high firs. The yellow-rosy rays of the winter sun glided along the light wooden walls. Behind the glass, Maedhros’s sharp eyes saw a brown silhouette and its pink shadow on the snow: it was a deer who came very close to the house.  
Celegorm looked out the window without seeing, unmoving, leaning his elbow on the windowsill. He could sit like that, holding with his hands on the back of his bed, he was able to put his feet down on the floor - but he could not stand yet. However, it was already good. Maitimo suffered much from the fact that their own knowledge of medicine was not enough for this case: if they only could get him to Gondolin in time!.. He often thought about this during the horrible first year of Celegorm’s infirmity, when Celegorm still could not even lift his head from the pillow; Maedhros held his sleeping brother's hand and recalled the spine-chilling details of the fall of the town, which he had recently been told about. Yes, Celegorm was recovering, but he recovered slowly, much more slowly than one would expect from an Elf. Of course, Maedhros realized that a Man in the place of Celegorm would not have the least hope for a recovery and would at the very least have remained bedridden for life: it was a comforting thought, but not for long.  
\- How are you, Tyelko? - he asked Celegorm.  
\- I am all right, - Celegorm replied. – I do not even have the headache today.  
\- I must tell you something. - Maedhros sat down on Celegorm’s bed. - I was informed that a messenger from Sauron may come to us because he wanted... to exchange something – and to bring something.  
\- Perhaps it's about your belongings they took back then? - Celegorm asked.  
\- It is very likely. Do you think we ought to talk to them?  
\- Why do you ask me? Of course we must not, - answered Celegorm.  
\- But what if... - Maedhros began.  
\- They will not return the Silmarils to us. What else would be worth negotiating with Sauron? - Celegorm asked. - Are you ready to give them anything?  
Maedhros was silent.  
\- And is it possible to take anything from them? - Celegorm insisted.  
Someone weakly, hesitatingly tapped at the door.  
\- Come in, - Celegorm sighed.  
The youngest of the surviving sons of Fëanor, Amrod, entered; he had a water basin and a towel with him.  
\- It's time for dinner, - he said. – Would you like to wash yourself?  
\- Yes, thank you: put it here, you don’t have to help, I’ll do it myself, - answered Celegorm.  
Maitimo knew that Amrod had a hard time. It was hard for all of them since he and Amrod found Celegorm with a broken back on the floor of a small house in the forest after Sauron's servants took the Silmaril from him and helped Elwing to escape.  
In fact, everyone was surprised how quietly and with restraint, Celegorm endured the painful ordeal: he almost never complained, was not angry when he felt uncomfortable, when he was cold, when he was in pain. But they all knew that none of them could ever replace Curufin.  
They all saw him dying: the last thing he had done was to help Celegorm get out of caves of Menegroth and cross the bridge, chasing the royal daughter. Curufin fell from the bridge into the raging stream and his body was never recovered. One of Curufin’s killers swung his axe at Celegorm, but a stray arrow with red plumage flew from nowhere and stopped him.  
\- I'll hear what they want to tell us, - Maedhros said. - After all, we do not have to take it.  
***  


They appeared the same hour the next day. It was overcast; the white cloak of Gwathren shimmered with gold, the cloak of the second equestrian with silver.  
Gwathren jumped off his horse, without releasing his dagger's handle and went to the porch. Maedhros stood in front; Maglor and one of the few remaining retainers brought Celegorm to the porch and sat him on a bench.  
\- It's him, - Celegorm said in a low voice to Maglor, but the other two brothers heard him, - the one who took... the stone.  
Maglor frantically clasped his fingers on Celegorm's shoulder.  
\- You dared to appear here, - Maedhros said, - although it was you who took from us what belonged to us by right and maimed our brother. I could kill you without further talks and without explanation. I could not even read your master's letter.  
\- But you read it, - said Gwathren. – I wonder what were you hoping for? After all, you probably hoped for something, when you read it.  
\- I have not seen any letter, - Celegorm said loudly and angrily. - What was in it?  
\- You must, at last, stop being obsessed with other people's belongings, Celegorm, - said Gwathren. - The letter was not yours, and I did not came to talk to you.  
Gwathren took off his glove, tucking it behind his belt; he lifted his hand and a golden chain flashed on it. He came closer.  
Maedhros saw on Gwathren’s palm a small blue sapphire flower, his own work.  
\- Do you know this thing?- Gwathren asked.  
\- Yes, - answered Maedhros.  
\- It’s yours, isn’t it? Don’t you want to get it back and make an exchange?  
Maedhros was silent.  
\- In exchange for what? - asked Maglor. - We have nothing. Neither for you, nor for your master.  
\- Do you not? - Gwathren extended his hand, carelessly twisting the pendant, winding a gold chain with his fingers; the blue flower fluttered around his hand. - You can give what is hanging around your neck now. - Gwathren's hand stopped and his long white fingernail aimed at Maedhros's throat; now the messenger of Sauron was very close. His golden locks glittered dimly under the gleam of white winter clouds. - The key of the Silmarils’s casket. The key is better to be where the casket is, is it?  
\- Can Sauron open it? - Answered Maglor. – I believe, he somehow got stones out of it to put in the crown? Why does he need a key?  
\- Well, maybe to ensure that you could not open it, if the stones come to your hands? - answered Gwathren with a sneer.  
\- We are able to manage our property, - Maedhros said at last. - It's none of your business.  
\- Are you? And what makes you think that it’s your property? It was your father's property. To whom of you did he leave it? Did he bequeath it to someone in particular? How will you share it? What will you do with them in general? - Gwathren asked, shifting the gaze of his gleaming gray eyes from Maedhros to Amrod, from Amrod to Celegorm, from Celegorm to Maglor. - Mairon somehow infested me with an incontrollable inquisitiveness, you know.  
\- The conversation is over, - Maedhros said. - Go away. I am not making any deals. Yes, the thing that you have in your hands is precious to me, but the one who gave it to me is no longer alive, and it's pointless to keep it and change it to what may still be of use to me. Go away, I said.  
\- All right, - Gwathren put on his glove again, and the pendant disappeared. - Do you really hope to get back the casket and what was in it? Answer me.  
\- Yes, - Maedhros said.  
\- Yes, - said Maglor.  
\- I hope so, - Celegorm said.  
\- Our oath must be fulfilled in the end, - said Amrod. - Where are the keys, there is the casket, where the casket is, there are the Silmarils. If we have the keys, then everything will be added in time, isn’t it?  
Maglor gave his younger brother a hard look. The words of Amrod sounded like a mockery. But still he refused, like the rest of them.  
\- It’s not a deal, - Gwathren shook his head. – What can I do when the other party is not ready to pay? I can only show you my goodwill and generosity, in a vain hope that prudence will come back to you eventually. Also, if your reason is silent, I can at least appeal to your feelings of kinship!  
Gwathren extended his hand and removed the hood from the head of the second equestrian, who was sitting on a small, bony, clean-headed chestnut horse. The animal nervously stomped on the ground. Maedhros, who was very fond of horses, thought bitterly that for a horse of this breed here and now it is too cold.  
A dark golden braid fell on the silver folds of the cloak, and Maedhros saw a fragile and frightened Elf-maid - almost a girl. Maedhros was so surprised that he did not immediately remember where he had seen her earlier. However, even if they had not met before, her large gray-green eyes, her thin nose, her lips, that were ready to break into a timid and slightly naïve smile, very much resembled the sons of Finarfin - Finrod and Orodreth, so he could immediately guess whom he was dealing with.  
\- Finduilas! - Amrod exclaimed.  
He went down from the entrance and helped her off the horse.  
The rest of them were silent.  
\- Pityo, do not be an idiot, - Celegorm addressed his younger brother. - Finduilas, the daughter of our cousin Orodreth, King of Nargothrond, is long dead – the Orcs slaughtered her. Get this creature out of here. Seat her back on the horse and send her away.  
\- How do you know? - exclaimed Amrod. - That is her. You just remember her badly. That's her.  
\- I know better, I lived in Nargothrond for a while, - said Celegorm, grabbing at the small dagger at his belt. - Yes, this is her. In other circumstances, I would swear that it is the Finduilas I knew. But why did they bring her to us now, even if we believe that she was alive? What happened to her mind and soul after twenty-five years in Angband? There are so many witnesses of her death and burial. It's a werewolf, a changeling in her guise; it’s someone who possessed her body.  
\- If she were not dead... - Maglor began.  
\- I was dead, - said Finduilas softly. – I’ve died. It was so very painful. I died, but I decided to be born again. I wanted so much to see Turin Turambar again. I wanted to help him. Therefore, I stayed in the Halls of Mandos only for a very short time. I begged Namo to let me return to Middle-earth and be born again. However, it was too late. The age of Men is short. I did not have time to find him... Then Sauron found me, but I did not stay very long with him. He learned from me everything he wanted. Now he does not need me any more. I asked him to bring me back to my family. Sauron does not know where to find my father's sister, Galadriel, and if he knew, it's unlikely that his emissary could have reached her. Here in Middle-earth I do not have other relatives, except for you. All my mother's people died when Nargothrond fell – or perished in Angband mines.  
Celegorm was silent.  
\- I do not really believe all this, - said Maglor.  
Maedhros descended from the stairs and approached the girl closer. Compared to him, she seemed quite tiny; he leaned toward her, leaning on the saddle of her horse and looked into her eyes.  
\- Stay, - Maedhros said. - In the end, we really have nothing and we have nothing to take away from us. Well, maybe, excluding this ill-fated key, - he added in a low voice.  
\- Do not do this, - Celegorm addressed to him. - Do not let her into the house.  
\- It is not a house: it’s a shack, - Maedhros said almost soundlessly; he only Gwathren and Finduilas heard him. – Have you heard everything you had to hear? – Maedhros turned to Gwathren.  
\- Yes, - Gwathren said. - Although ... I wanted to ask you to give me your word not to hurt her. I promised it when I took her from her second parents' home. I kept my word.  
\- Your word is of no value, - Maedhros replied. - And I do not intend to waste my own. If…  
\- Then, - Gwathren said to the girl, - you will return to Angband. Forgive me, but I cannot otherwise.  
\- I'll give you my word. - Amrod held out his hand to Finduilas. He wanted to touch the girl's hand, but his fingers faltered and he awkwardly caught up a ribbon on her silvery cloak. - I promise that no harm will be done to this lady.  
\- Thank you, - Gwatren replied, and touched the reins of his horse. – Good-bye.  
\- I’ll see you later, - Finduilas told him.  
\- It’s better to say our farewells, - Gwathren shook his head. - I'm not likely to be here again. And you, I hope, will never return to Angband.  
\- You've always been so kind to me. I... I do know that you are not bad, - Finduilas told him.  
Gwathren tightened the strings of his cloak. In the rays of a red winter sun, the golden cloth seemed almost purple.  
\- I’ve learned the true mercy of Tar-Mairon, - Gwathren said coldly. - Good luck to you, lady.  
Riding away from the house, he exclaimed:  
\- Oh, you did not want to negotiate with Tar-Mairon! Perhaps you'll regret it! Perhaps you'll regret it, Maedhros! How much malevolence is in you, you sons of Fëanor! Here is a gift from all-powerful Melkor!  
Gwathren threw something directly at Maedhros; it hit his forehead, slightly scratching him, and fell on the stairs, bounced off an icy board, fell on the dirty trodden snow, glittering with bloody sparks.  
After this, Gwathren rode away.  
Maglor stared at the thing with horror. Maedhros fell to his knees, took it with his left hand, clasped his fingers around it, unable to lift it. Celegorm did not take his eyes off him. He wanted so much to see his older brother cry, because it was unbearable to look at his hunched back, his elbows, pressed convulsively to the body, stretched muscles on his neck under a haze of red hair.  
Finally, Maedhros clenched his fist, turned it, opened his hand, looking in the direction where Sauron’s messenger had gone. Maglor thought that he himself could not stand Maedhros’s stare now.  
Maglor remembered that a long time ago, a few months before disappearance of Fingon’s sister, Aredhel, Fingon had lost his ruby necklace, given to him by Maedhros. Fingon considered this a bad omen, and although the necklace was eventually found, he no longer wore it. He remade the ruby pendant into a ring, which he constantly wore on his left hand.  
Before the eyes of Maglor, there was an image: Fingon, a few hours before his coronation, standing in a corner in his palace, thinking that no one could see him (Maglor approached him to ask something) - again, again and again trying to take the ring off his finger. It was impossible.  
On Maedhros's palm was the ring of Fingon - twisted, trampled, three of the eight ruby petals smashed.  
The gift of Melkor.

***

Maedhros did not understand for a while where he was and what was going on. Then Maglor helped him to return to the house.  
\- I think we have not had our dinner yet, - Maedhros forced himself to say. - Let's go help Tyelko.  
Celegorm lay on his bed, his face turned to the wall.  
\- How cold it is here, as if the window was opened, - Maedhros said casually, and put his winter cloak over his brother. - Will you have some bread and vegetables or just meat?  
The elder brother reached for a little table, which could be put on the bed; he wanted to help Celegorm to sit, but the younger brother pushed his hand away.  
\- I will not have anything. While she's in the house, I will not eat anything, - Celegorm said.  
Maedhros reached out and stroked his brother’s wavy dark-blond hair: they were wet and tangled. He again looked quite ill, as in the first year.  
Amrod came in with a plate in his hand.  
\- My little brother… perhaps… - Maitimo wanted to say "maybe later," but he did not finish speaking.  
\- I will not eat while she's in the house. Let her go, - Celegorm insisted. He turned with an effort, looking into Amrod's eyes.  
\- Why? - Amrod replied. - I gave the oath. She will stay. She is our niece, well, our cousin's daughter. We have no one else in our family. I do not count Gil-Galad and, frankly, I’ve never considered Idril our family, especially now, when she married a Man.  
\- I'm against this, - Celegorm said. - Can you hear me?  
\- You can be against it as much as you like; I can dispose of my part of the house and invite anyone there. Maitimo allowed her to stay. Or have you changed your mind, Maitimo? - Amrod asked.  
\- No, - Maedhros said, - I have not changed my mind, and I do not think there is a reason for a quarrel. There's nothing to take from us now, and I do not see what harm Finduilas can make.  
\- Are you blind? She is a changeling or a puppet of Sauron, a substitute body into which someone else's soul was inserted... She can kill you when you’re asleep, poison you, set fire to our house, make you a cripple...  
\- I'm already crippled, and that's enough of this, - Maedhros answered.  
Amrod handed Celegorm a plate, trying to put a table on the bed at the same time, but Celegorm jerked and knocked it out of Amrod's hands. Bits of stewed meat flopped onto the floor. A hunk of bread flew off, dropping on the sheets, directly under Celegorm’s arm.  
Amrod picked up the plate and, swinging, threw it on the floor so that it broke to pieces.  
\- That's enough! Do what you want; I will not take care of you any more! I'm not even coming to your room. I'm sick of you. You teach me all the time. I’ve had enough!  
\- Have you never met a girl, - said Celegorm, - that you lost your mind because of this one? Have you fallen in love, Pityo? Did someone teach you at last how babies are made?  
\- What's the matter with you, you rapist? What do you know? - replied Amrod.  
Celegorm with a terrible shriek rushed forward, almost falling on the floor, but Maedhros intercepted him, tightly squeezing his wrists.  
\- Get out of here! Get out please and close the door! - exclaimed Maedhros, turning to Amrod and to Maglor, who appeared at the door. - Close the door. Calm down! Calm down, Tyelko! It's not worth it. Do you want me to spend the night in your room if you are so much afraid of her? Do you want it?  
\- No, no, do not, do not, - said Celegorm. Leaning on his elder brother’s hand and putting other on the back of his bed, he managed to get up for a split second; then he collapsed onto the bed. - It's ... it's not so bad. I probably will be able to walk soon. I will try to. Forgive me, I am so sorry – you’re hurting enough and you have to put up with me. She’s really not worth it. There's nothing to be afraid of.  
\- Very well. Let me bring you some more food. You must be hungry, - Maedhros said.  
\- Okay ... do not, I'm tired. So tired. I am going to sleep. We can clean the floor tomorrow.  
\- All right, then, good night. - The older brother spread his cloak on him. - Do not freeze.  
Maedhros came out and carefully closed the door behind him. The room was completely dark. Celegorm started to eat the bread that was on his bed, from time to time brushing crumbs on the floor.  
His eyes were wet. No, not now.  
He remembered how he had struggled to his feet, watching Gwathren and Elwing leaving, saw the horse, from which Sauron's assistant removed the saddle, finding Maedhros’s belongings.  
Then he fell and fainted. He woke up a half a hour later. Maedhros furiously kicked him with a scream - "Where is my bag? Where? _Where ? »._  
Later, Maedros begged for forgiveness; Celegorm showed him a bruise on his hand – “it’s all nonsense, it’s my own fault, I should not take your horse when mine was near; you did not hurt me, it’s only a bruise”.  
That day Amrod dragged Maedhros away a few seconds later – but it was after Celegorm felt a terrible blow on his spine, heard a low but hideous, sickening crunch and realized that he could never get up.

  



	18. The Ruins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the coffin was opened, the sight was not as terrible as Maedhros imagined.

  


\- Well, Gwathren, - said Sauron to his assistant, - we did not get the key, but you guessed right: everything was exactly as you told me. Well, this is an additional inconvenience, but I think we can find a way out of this and even turn all this in our favor.  
\- Finduilas? - Gwathren asked with disapproval.  
Sauron laughed softly.  
\- We do not need Finduilas any more. Maeglin will help us. We know he is an idiot. If Maeglin will say a few words too much, or even a couple of phrases too much, this will not surprise anyone – even our Master. As for the key, I am not going to wait any more.  
Sauron easily ran up to the top of a huge tower above his chambers. There Nathron waited for him. At the edge of the platform, there was a huge, black and blue leathery creature - not a dragon, but one of dragons’s forefathers. Sauron threw his black cloak to Nathron and climbed onto the back of the beast.  
\- It's cold. – Nathron looked at the snow-covered rocks and involuntarily clasped Sauron's cloak, which was slightly moist and unbelievably hot, like a rag one just used to open an oven.  
\- I'm not cold, - Sauron said, - and because of my cloak, it can lose the balance in flight.  
Sauron ran his fingers along a bone ridge on the creature's head.  
\- You know what to do, - he said. - Everything should be ready by noon tomorrow.

***

On this day, the hunt ended, before it started.  
Maedhros’s healthy arm was twisted, his fingers were almost breaking. The right hand, the one without palm, was bound to his body with a belt.  
He and Amrod were all alone in the forest; no one could help them now. Maedhros heard the scream of his younger brother; fortunately, it was only pain and surprise - he was safe.  
Why did they go so far into the forest together? Perhaps, secretly, Maedhros now thought that they both were no longer needed.  
And a voice behind him echoed his thought:  
\- I will not hurt you. Nobody needs you, Maedhros. Do you think that your name may have an appeal for anyone right now? The "Union of Maedhros" was almost fifty years ago; since then, two generations of Men have changed. Young Men do not know a thing about you. Moreover, many Quendi do not want to hear about you any more, son of Fëanor. - He felt Sauron's fingernail sticking into his shoulder. - Yes, you probably already damn your own tenacity. Do not be afraid for your physical body, - said Sauron almost contemptuously. - I do not need it, but what's on it. You refused to give me the key...  
Maedhros breathed heavily.  
\- The key? What's about it?  
\- The key is a key, Maedhros. The key for the lock. I want to open the lock with its key, is it clear? - Sauron said quietly in his ear. - And you'll open the lock for me. You will you come with me.  
Maedhros could not bear the thought of becoming a prisoner again. He jerked frantically; fell to the ground, painfully hitting his forehead against an icy dry branch. They rolled together in the snow; Sauron's hold was so strong and at the same time ethereal that it felt as if a skeleton seized him. Maedhros felt a small bite, burning like a bee sting, on his neck, and felt that his hands and legs ceased to obey him.  
\- I'm with him, - said Amrod. - Take me, too.  
\- No ... - Maedhros forced himself to say, although it was difficult. - No ... do not. Brother, please stay...  
\- Sorry. I cannot bear to look at how you... are taken from me for the second time. I cannot.  
The younger took him by the hand, and Maedhros felt that he was being carried somewhere. Sauron covered his face with his own cloak, and he plunged into unconsciousness.

***

When Maedhros woke up, he was confronted with the picture that he wanted to see least of all.  
He was put on his feet; his brother supported him. He blinked.  
On both sides of them were charred black metal strips, twisted, melted lumps, frozen flows of iron, cracks. These were the last, Steel Gates of Gondolin. The surviving piece of the wall to the right was decorated with a relief depicting the passage of the Noldor through Helkaraxë; Fingolfin's empty iron eyes looked straight at Maedhros. Once they were probably adorned with sapphires or opals (when Maedhros was here for the last time, the gates had not yet been completed). Fingolfin stretched out his hand, which once held a banner or sword; the metal thawed in the dragon flame and Fingolfin's hand flowed, disintegrated in an eerie long stripe of metal, as if blood gushed out of it: he seemed to be reaching out to Maedhros, begging for help. Several gems from the precious crown of Turgon which once adorned the gates, were fused into the metal, - the stones that the marauders could not dig out.  
The scorched, gray valley lied ahead: there were only a few rocks and skeletons of trees. A black heap of coals towered the hill of Amon Gwareth and the ruins of the city. The white stone mound where Fingolfin was buried, was glittering to the right of them. They were led there.  
From a distance, Maedhros saw a tall, slender figure near the tomb and for a split second his heart froze: he thought it was Turgon. However, after a few steps, he realized that it was someone else, and then he recognized Penlod.  
Penlod looked at him and nodded; Maedhros, coming closer, noticed on his neck a collar, partly hidden by the fur neckline of his winter coat. He heard about the collars; on the one hand, it was painful to think that Penlod was forced to obey those who killed Turgon, on the other - it meant less physical pain.  
\- This is our key, - said Sauron. - You, Penlod, did not have to wait long. By the evening I will bring you and Maedhros back home.  
\- Home? - Maedhros asked, looking at Penlod.  
\- Gorthaur allowed me, in exchange for some little services, to live outside the walls of Angband, - Penlod told him coldly, and immediately regretted his frankness. He remembered how Turgon held his finger to his lips when they parted this morning. - In fact, I was just asked to confirm or deny what Maeglin was saying, - he added. - You see - I wear the collar on me and you probably know what that means.  
Penlod himself knew perfectly well that the collar no longer acted on him, and Sauron knew this. In the last weeks of his stay in Angband, he himself felt it; in addition, Nathron told him the same when he took him to the forest. Now, after all that he had learned, he could not fully trust the sons of Fëanor. Let them better consider him a helpless puppet of Sauron.  
Penlod thought that Sauron cautiously, imperceptibly nodded, expressing his approval - yes, he also wanted everyone to think so.  
At the door of the tomb, a handful of Sauron's servants were bustling about; mostly they were orcs and a few Men, led by Nathron. They removed a huge boulder that closed the entrance.  
\- Let's step aside, - said Sauron, addressing Penlod and the sons of Fëanor. - And do not do anything stupid. Nathron, you come here. I should have told you at once, Maedhros, why I need a key. You can be trusted, - at least in this case. - He glanced at Amrod. – Anyway, I found out - in part through Penlod, partly from other Noldor - that the Silmarils came to Angband not in the casket in which they were originally stored, and that your cousin Findecáno had in his satchel the lock from the original casket with an image of Tata and Tatië. I was also told that Findecáno had put this satchel in his father's coffin. I want to make sure that this is really so, that it really is the lock in question and that your key is the right key for it: I have ho reason to doubt the authenticity of your key.  
\- In his satchel? - Maedhros asked in bewilderment. - I do not understand where and why... Yes, indeed, Findecáno did have such a bag, and... But he could not have this lock. He just could not.  
\- Gorthaur, I know you did not invite me, but I still want to understand what and why you're talking about, - Amrod interrupted him bluntly. - Maitimo has the key that is precious to us only as a memory. Your master has the stones. Apparently, the casket no longer exists; you do not need to open it. So what? Why are you looking for the lock?  
\- Maedhros, did you give the lock to Fingon? - asked Gorthaur.  
\- No. Of course I did not. All this time I believed that Melkor took the stones and the casket and later he opened the casket or found a key. The casket disappeared, the stones disappeared. It was... quite obvious.  
Sauron smiled arrogantly. Behind him lay a scorched plain, on which he seemed to be the only living spot; and this life – his eyes, luminous, brighter than the gray sky, his heavy, shiny hair - seemed somehow instable and unreal. He touched Maedhros cheek gently.  
\- If Melkor brought stones to Middle-earth in another casket - which is obviously so - then the original casket was already broken up in Valinor. If Fingon had a piece of casket, and you did not give it to him, it means that Fingon was in Formenos at the time the casket was broken. If he was there when Finwë died, and did not tell anyone about it - it means that something is wrong with Finwë's death. If Finwë was not killed by Melkor - I want to know all about it. Did you understand me? – Sauron asked, looking severely at Maedhros.  
Maedhros pressed his hand to his forehead; after a poisoned injection, his head still ached. He remembered that he had seen the contents of the bag, and that it really held something the size of a small book, carefully wrapped in a piece of thick dark cloth. A couple of times he asked Fingon what it was - he said indifferently: "It’s a memory of home".  
He recalled something else. Before they parted on the ocean shore, when he and his father Fëanor boarded their ship, when he still believed he would be able to hug Fingon again soon (and that Fingon would have a reason to embrace him), he asked Fingon: "Why did not you come to Formenos that day?".  
And Fingon replied:  
"It's a pity, but I did not manage to meet you that day".  
Then he did not heed to the literal meaning to these words. Now they have acquired a terrifying significance. Fingon could not lie: he did not answer the question why he _could not come_ ; His words could mean that he _came_ that day, but _could not meet him._  
\- You see, Gorthaur, - said Penlod, - Finwë was definitely not killed by Melkor.  
\- What are you talking about? - Sauron asked.  
Penlod paused, but then he got up his courage. He realized that Sauron let him and Turgon go exactly in the hope of obtaining this kind of information. Both he and Turgon understood that they would have to tell him. Well, why is he always the one to tell!  
\- Maitimo, and you, Pityo, you do not have to believe me, but I'll tell you. I talked with a forest Elf who somehow came across a caravan of Dwarves. Ungoliant attacked and ate them all. She was full, and that woman could talk to her. Therefore, according to Ungoliant, Melkor arrived with her in the vicinity of Formenos; he met there with someone, then they went to Valimar. Then they returned to Formenos; Finwë was already dead; he had a wound on his neck made by a knife, and his head was broken by the Silmarils's casket. The casket itself was smashed to pieces. There was a light in the treasury, a lantern on the shelf. She said he did not wear the helmet and that he wore a long shirt with a golden star and a chain armor.  
Maedhros remembered only Finwë's broken head in the dim light of the iron lamp above the entrance. There was no lantern on the shelf. He did not see what his dead grandfather was wearing - he saw only the dim reflection of the rings of armor.  
They exchanged glances with Amrod. Penlod was in Formenos, but he was not a member of the family and the entrance to Finwë's private quarters was closed to him. Finwë usually breakfasted in his room, at a table by the balcony, dressed in a long embroidered nightdress, throwing on a long warm robe. When they practiced the martial arts, Finwë usually put under his armor a kind of underwear made of gray cloth without any embroidery, but never an embroidered shirt with a coat of arms. If someone saw the shirt under the armor, it meant that Finwë had not had time to change his clothes after the breakfast, or...  
Gorthaur shook his head, smiling derisively  
\- Well, well. Yes, someone probably shall talk to Ungoliant, of course, but even I would be afraid after what she did to Melkor. The girls found an understanding, eh? Perhaps, I ought to send Thuringwethil to talk to her? Do you think your forest friend will be able to repeat her story to me? - he asked.  
\- I think so, - said Penlod. Talking with Nan and Ela, he realized that both Elf-maids did not think of Sauron so bad as the Noldor did.  
\- So if Finwë was indeed killed by the casket, or at least if the casket was broken when Finwë was killed, then it's all the more important to find a casket or at least a part of it, - said Gorthaur.  
\- Who cares? - asked Amrod. - Do you think we will help you to whitewash your master? All the same, it's all because of him...  
\- Listen, you, the last Finwë... - interrupted Sauron.  
\- No, “the last Finwë”, Telufinwë, was Amras, and Pityo's full name is Pityafinwë, the “little Finwë”, - Penlod interjected.  
\- Penlod, I know, it's just that now he is our last (I hope so!), Finwë, - Sauron snorted, pointing a finger at Amrod. – Look, you, the last Finwë: I understand that the sons of Fëanor could not care less, but please consider that Fingolfin’s tomb is here exactly because Fingolfin wanted to avenge his father, the first Finwë. Fingolfin was laid in his grave exactly because Fëanor started to blame Melkor for the death of Finwë, and even, as they say, tried to kill himself. Fingolfin, as always, had to prove that he loved his father more than Fëanor. If Fingolfin had been told, for example, that Finwë tried to get into Galadriel's pants and that’s why Finwë's granddaughter had smashed granddad's skull, Fingolfin would still rule in Tirion. For some reason it seems to me that those who fled from Gondolin, saving their lives, and those who were maimed, raped and enslaved, would very much like to look into the eyes of a Quendi who knocked Finwë’s brains out, even if the sons of Fëanor do not really care.  
\- Since when are you such an Elf supporter? - asked Maedhros.  
\- Since the time I rule Middle-earth, Maedhros. Have you not notice this? I'm ready to take you under my protection as well, if you behave yourself, - answered Sauron. - Well, are you ready?  
Before them there was a huge, silver-bound door.  
\- Shall we hack it? - asked Gorthaur, looking with regret at the lacy patterns on the plates of silver and ivory that covered the gates.  
\- No, I know how it opens, - said Penlod. - And if you start to open it wrong, the locks will lock up forever. - He pressed a number of panels, then on separate parts of the carving. A small box came out of the door, in which there was a key. Penlod turned the key in the keyhole - in several directions a certain number of times.  
\- Why does it open at all? - asked Gorthaur. Penlod did not know what to say. - Why were you going to open it? Why go into the tomb? And why don’t you write here you usual “enter, friend"? Well, you are welcome! - He pointed at Nathron, the sons of Fëanor and Penlod, telling the others to stay outside.

***

Nathron had a torch in his hand, but Sauron, glancing around the funerary chamber, snapped his fingers, and the crystal lamps lit up on the walls: enough oil remained in them. Sauron's thin fingers quickly unfurled the starred blue banner that covered the sarcophagus. Maedhros shuddered when he saw how easily Sauron picked up and put aside the silver lid, which even four Elves could move only with difficulty, not to mention Men: from time to time, he forgot that Sauron was not a man and not a Quendi, but an eternal creation of Eru.  
"But still," thought Maedhros, "to find out how one of us died, he went down to the grave of another. On the other hand, perhaps he just wants to know the truth about Melkor?.."

When the coffin was opened, the sight was not as terrible as Maedhros imagined.  
Once he heard Pengolod say that, most likely, Fingolfin's body would remain imperishable. Maedhros realized that this did not happen because Gondolin fell. The seven gates were broken, evil and moist southern winds came in the valley; trees and grass burned out. Hot winds and frosty dawns of the past ten years have turned into dust not only the crystal streams and fountains of Turgon's city, but also the remains of the father of the King. There was only a skeleton and a few strands of black hair.  
The finest azure fabric, strewn with golden stars, which once shrouded the body, disappeared and the skull and bones turned blue; here and there, golden glitters shimmered between them. A few heavy rings still sparkled on the skeletal hands, folded on the chest.  
Sauron held his hand in the air above the sarcophagus, as if telling everyone to step aside, although none of them was eager to touch the remains of Fingolfin. Carefully, with two fingers he took out the bag from the coffin and turned it in his hands with curiosity. He had before, of course, seen Elvish satchels for books and papers. However, this one was especially beautiful, although it looked modest in appearance, and it was preserved better than anything else was. It had a double leather lining; it was soaked in a special solution that made it waterproof and equipped with two rows of strong buckles and inner pockets. Papers and books in this satchel could survive even after sinking to the bottom of a river. Sauron took out papers, a few small hand-made notebooks, a set of writing appliances, and carefully studied some petty things wrapped in a scarf.  
Sauron re-searched all the papers in the bag; it seemed that he simply flipped through them, but Penlod knew Sauron well enough to understand: his consciousness could capture in a moment everything written and painted. Gorthaur held out the bag to Penlod; from the papers he selected two or three letters and hid them, the rest was given to Maedhros:  
\- Take it, - he said, - this is, perhaps, only of interest to you.  
Nothing like the lock described by Turgon was in the bag.

Penlod remembered Turgon's words - "... when Gorthaur finds out that I deceived him".  
The involuntary, apparently very real hysterical fit that happened when Turgon heard from Sauron the unpleasant truth about his brother Fingon, a fit that nearly killed Turgon himself and his unborn child – or children, - finally convinced Sauron of the truth of all what Turgon had said before and after that. It looked as if the frightened, captive Elf king, who lost everything, in confusion gave out his family secrets.  
Now Penlod had no doubt that everything that Turgon had said aloud after leaving Sauron's laboratory with him and Maeglin, and perhaps even before that, had been a thorough, deliberately calculated mixture of truth and lies.  
Penlod attentively turned the bag in his hands, rummaged through it, and then turned to Maedhros with surprise. He opened the bag before him, and Maedhros saw Penlod's hand go under the lining, grabbing something there.  
\- There's something hidden in there, - said Penlod. - A paper.  
Penlod pulled out a folded sheet of parchment. It looked old and shabby; when Penlod opened it, he saw that the sheet was covered with clumsy letters that ran into each other. A Noldo Elf, who never learned to write – the most unusual thing ever! - it seemed, wrote these Quenya lines. The writer, as it were, copied letters from somewhere, as one would copy some weird pictures: each letter looked different, some were smaller, others larger. Many letters were slightly erased, as if tears or raindrops were spilled on the ink.  
Penlod began to read it, but when trying to understand what the author of the letter tried to say, he was absolutely bewildered:  
\- Dear ... dear ... probably ... Ingoldo? ... Ah, "dear Nolo," yes, "dear Nolo, you, probably" ... "wheel” – what wheel? Ah – “you will”… “you will be sour?” What does it mean – sour? Oh, it’s "You will be surprised"? "Dear Nolo, you probably will be surprised..." ... yes, I would also be very surprised – or sour.  
Penlod looked at the parchment in perplexity.  
Maedhros did not believe his own eyes and ears: he reached out and Penlod shrugged his shoulders and handed him the letter. There was written something like:  
  
_deer nkolo u porbally wheel be very sour praised when u receeve this ladder but its me…_

The letter was monstrously, inexpressibly illiterate: _Nkolo_ instead of _Ñolo_ , _penna_ instead of _tenna_ , _estel-tella_ instead of _estel-pella_ ... *  
Maedrhos read the letter, then re-read it again.  
It began to dawn at him: it was a letter from Finwë, and this was a letter written by Finwë himself - not by him, Maedhros, at the dictation of his grandfather, not by Fingon, not by Caranthir: it was Finwë himself who made desperate efforts to write a letter to Fingolfin personally. Probably, he had before him the alphabet, which Maedhros wrote for him, and sitting in the gardens under the tenderly rustling birches or on the balcony in his chambers, he was painstakingly drawning letters, clumsily squeezing the pen with his long white fingers, throwing back the heavy, slightly wavy strands of his hair.  
\- Uncle Fingolfin ... I do not know, he probably never saw this letter during his lifetime, - Maedhros’s voice trebmled. - This ... this letter is from his father ... from our grandfather. He wrote it himself, because... here you are.  
_Dear Nolo, you, probably, will be surprised, having received these lines_ , - read Maedhros out loud, - _but I'm writing this to you. I'm sorry for having my grandchildren to write for me before, but it's so difficult for me! Fëanaro is always so angry when it comes to his letters, I cannot understand anything about them. I love you very much and miss you. Everything is fine with us. Last time F. said that T. had a daughter born to him. I have to write myself to you and T. I hug and kiss T., E. and the baby Itarillë, I hope I wrote the name correctly. Love to Anairë, kiss Ar. and Ared. for me. Your loving Father. "_  
\- Nelyafinwë... - said Penlod. - Sorry ... We were wrong, thinking so badly about you and Fingon. Was he the one who most often came for letters?  
\- Yes, - Maedhros said grimly, mildly surprised at who were "we" who were not thinking well about Fingon.  
\- This last letter he could not convey, because then everyone would know that he was in Formenos on that last day. But he apparently saw Finwë's death, although he was not able to save him, and then took the letter and the lock with him. He took a part of the casket, already broken.  
\- I do not understand why Fingon had to take the lock, - Nathron asked.  
\- I do not understand either, - Maedhros said. - To my mind…  
\- You do not understand, do you? - Amrod interrupted him angrily. - You do not understand. Do you remember anything about the lock?  
\- I ... - Maedhros thought for a moment. - Oh, yes, it was you and Telvo who made that silver cover, and the insides of the casket? And the key ...  
\- Maitimo, - said Amrod. Maedhros had never seen him so angry. – Maitimo, should I explain to you why Findecáno took the lock? I will: just in case it would finally turn out that on that day, Findecáno was in Formenos. He did this to prove that the lock was not hacked, that it was opened with a key. There were two keys: our father’s and yours. He felt that if he took the lock and showed it to Fëanor or someone else, it would become absolutely clear that he, Findecáno, could not steal the Silmarils and kill Finwë, because the lock was opened with a key, and he could not have a key. However, Maitimo, the fact that he managed to take the front panel so easily, already proves that the casket was opened with a key, and not broken.  
\- Why?! asked Maedhros.  
\- Because, once again I'll tell you, we did the whole thing together, the locking device inside the casket. Were you not surprised at all that the casket crashed to pieces? Especially considering that our grandfather did not wear a helmet. This casket could only be broken when it was open.  
\- Why are you so sure of this? - Sauron asked.  
\- You see, - replied Amrod, - I say not “the lock”, but “the locking device”, and I mean it. It was more than a lock. A number of turns of the key (and to open it you had to turn the key many times) triggered the mechanism: it was a set of flexible pins and springs that went through all the walls of the casket. In fact, when locking the casket, each of its walls was closing, connected to another by an additional internal lock, so the casket was closed not by one lock, but by eight.  
Sauron shook his head in amazement.  
\- That means, if you disassemble the casket completely, taking off the wooden sidewalls and the silver plates on the lock, - he said, - it would look like something of a metal cage in which the ends of the rods interlocked with each other when the key was turned?  
\- Well, not exactly, but it describes it quite neatly, - agreed Amrod, - in general terms, that was it. As far as I know, if you try to break the closed casket, you could destroy it only by completely flattening it, and – or – breaking it into small pieces. I'm not sure if the Silmarils would have survived. But when all the internal locks were opened, it was just a casket, and it really could have been crashed just after one very strong blow. I understand that this does not seem very practical, but my father was worried about the casket being locked and locked as strong as possible: only he could use it when it was open, and all the rest of the time the casket was in the iron chamber of his treasury.  
\- Amrod, - Sauron inquired curiously, - and if we assume that, for example, Fëanor put his the Silmarils on himself and left the chest open, could someone in his absence, without a key, do some manipulations that would allow him to break the casket after Fëanor had locked it again? Suppose the thief had an accomplice who made it easier for him. For example, could an accomplice get into the lock and neutralize one or more parts of the mechanism so that when the key was turned they were (invisibly for Fëanor) not closed? After all, in this case, the casket, perhaps, would have been more at risk and could have been broken even if it had not been forcibly opened before?  
Amrod was silent for a while, and then said without looking at Sauron:  
\- If you can consider me and Telvo Melkor's accomplices, yes, - replied the youngest son of Fëanor gloomily. - The mechanism of the casket is our creation. Even our father did not fully comprehend the locking device. If you wished to disassemble the mechanism from the outside, not touching the lock, you could only destroy the casket, using tools – removing all the fittings and disconnecting all layers of the sidewalls. It was almost impossible; I think my brother Curufin, who assembled the walls, would not undertake to disassemble them. I'm sure, Gorthaur, that even if you took this job, while trying not to damage the contents of the casket, it would take you at least a week - despite the fact that you don’t have to sleep and eat. Moreover, my father would have noticed this, to put it mildly: he personally locked both the casket and the treasure room before leaving for Valimar. An attempt to break the mechanism through a lock, even when the casket was open, would prompt its breakdown. The key would stop to turn as usual, and our father could not miss it, too.  
\- It turns out that if we believe Ungoliant, when – and if – Finwë was hit by the casket, the casket was opened, and most likely, it no longer had the stones in it, - said Penlod.  
Maedhros bit his lip and ran his left hand through his red hair.  
\- Well, - he said at last, - but then ... it means Melkor knew that the casket would be open. Or does it mean that when he was there for the first time, our grandfather was already dead, the casket was already open? The killer gave him the Silmarils, and then he and Ungoliant returned to Formenos for the other jewels...  
\- The second possibility seems more likely to me, - said Penlod, - although it's unlikely we can find out.  
Maedhros looked at his key.  
\- Of course, I did not know all the details about the lock, but I would have been wondering all the time how it happened that the casket was opened, if it were not so sure that Melkor got the stones together with the casket, and he or you, - Maedhros turned to Sauron, - had enough time to open it carefully. Moreover, I have not seen the fragments of the casket then, - he said. - Although it was so dark ...  
\- That's right, - said Amrod, - because I’ve noticed the rest of the pieces, without the lock, in the bushes near the house, when we were already leaving, and my brother and I, - he said _my brother_ as if Maedhros was not his brother at all, - collected them and then I threw them into the sea. Why are you looking at me like that? I told you that the lock was our job. I did not even want to think what our father would do to us if he found out that the locked casket was broken or that, for example, Melkor had a key.  
\- Why would he be angry at you, Pityo? - said Penlod. - Fëanor had one key, Nelyo had another. Obviously, neither of you the twins had anything to do with the fact that the lock was opened.  
\- Penlod, what are you talking about? - Maedhros jerked his crippled hand, as if trying to squeeze it into a fist. - Are you talking about my key? I now carry the key on myself. Then it just hung in my room on a hook, and my room was not locked... well, it was not always locked. Anyone could take it. You just had to go up to the third floor. That day it was also hanging in my room. It’s probably still hanging there. I have my father's key now! Do you understand?  
\- So the Valar invited Melkor to Valinor, than, - Sauron said, smiling. - I was not here; I was left out. Melkor is such a philosopher and expert in the souls of Elves and Men! He can poison your heart, spread lies and encourage you to have unnatural intercourses. Considering that you, the Quendi, are immortal, Manwë probably thought it would be very amusing to see what would happen if you would hear for three hundred years something like "fuck your brother, kill your grandfather" or "kill your brother, fuck your grandfather». Alas, I am such a straightforward creature, and it is very easy to predict what may happen if I find myself in a blessed land where keys to jewel caskets hang on hooks in the open rooms. That’s why I was not allowed to go to Valinor.  
\- Mairon, - Maedhros chuckled against his will, - you see, I could as well hang the key on the fence. - He again became serious and sighed. - To try to open the casket, it was necessary first to go into the treasury. The key to the treasury was just one. And this key was always on Finwë’s belt. To get into the treasury, you ought to kill Finwë, or, in any case, persuade him to let you in. When Finwë was dead, everything was easy. It’s just no one could imagine that someone could hurt him.  
\- What difference does in make now, Maitimo! - exclaimed Amrod. - None! Anyway, we are in a desperate situation. Moreover, it does not matter who got us into all this. Melkor - yes, it was Melkor. The one who killed Finwë - yes, and he, too, whoever he or she was. And our father too. And your Fingon, yes, Maitimo, he too, if, as Penlod thinks, he saw how everything happened, but did not say anything to anyone, and thought only how to protect himself or his own family, keeping the lock.  
Amrod turned away and left.  
Meadhros rushed after him and saw that Amrod, coming out of the tomb, began to descend the dusty, deserted road towards the ruined Steel Gates.  
\- Let me ask you another question. Well, the key was in your room, which was open or which could easily be opened, - Sauron said. - But did those who did not live in Formenos know this - well, except for Findecáno, since you were bosom friends? Who knew the plan of the house and the fact that a second key was easily available in your room? If the casket was indeed opened with a key (and we can only make sure of this when we see the lock), it turns out that one of the sons of Fëanor, or Fëanor himself, or Finwë did it.  
Maitimo was silent.  
\- I did not know this, - Penlod said. - I was an assistant to Fëanor and brother of Pengolod, his most favorite disciple. I guessed that only Finwë has the key to the treasury, but - I did not know about the key of the casket.  
\- Penlod, but where were everybody? - Nathron asked. - It was a royal house. Servants, retainers...  
\- As far as I know, most left with Fëanor. After so many years of stay in Formenos everyone wanted to come to the feast... - answered Penlod.  
\- Yes, - Maedhros confirmed, - and the rest, those who did not want to go with my father, our grandfather let go the day before, so that they could attend the feast in the village - it's about five miles from the fortress to the north. After midnight, there was no one there, except for the seven of us and Finwë. Well, at least, as far as I know.  
\- All right, - Sauron turned to Maedhros and suddenly exclaimed excitedly, - Give me the letter! I really need a sample of Finwë's handwriting! Well, at least cut me one line!  
Mairon came closer and grabbed the letter; after that, he as if came to his senses suddenly and looked around. In the end, he did not have to plead. He silently took the letter from the hand of Maedhros.  
\- I'll take it, - he said in a completely serene voice. - The addressee, - Mairon cast a glance at the remains in the silver sarcophagus, - hardly can read it here.

***

Sauron knew what he should do now, but he did not want to – oh, how much he did not want to!  
Although - why should he?  
He opened a round wooden box. It was full of large pearls and light, half-transparent drops of amber, shiny like egg yolks, dark yellow and brown.  
\- Nathron, - he said to his assistant, - do you still have a gold cloth with butterflies that you made for Finrod?  
\- The cloth is very old, - Nathron said, shaking his head, - and I don’t have much of it left. I'm afraid that nothing can be made from it now.  
\- And can you weave the same?  
\- Yes, of course I can, - Nathron replied, - but it will take a long time ... It depends on how soon you want it. A few weeks, maybe more...  
\- So what? – Sauron smiled. - We're not in hurry...

Sauron left for Maedhros and Amrod two huge black horses, which they, after consulting, decided to use.  
Penlod nevertheless dared to approach them and ask Maedhros:  
\- You ... how are you all?  
\- Nothing good, - Maedhros replied sharply. - Atarincë is no more, Moryo does not want to know us – I haven’t seen him for seven years, and Tyelko is now cannot get up. Sometimes he does not want to see anyone, either. It is hard. Well, at least most of his filthy Mannish retainers and toadies disappeared when he became disabled. That’s good.  
\- But how?.. – asked Penlod.  
\- After Doriath, his back is broken, - Maedhros answered, not willing to go into details. - He cannot walk ever since. – Maedhros thought that Penlod, although not a physician himself, was still the closest kinsman of Pengolod, the greatest scholar of Gondolin. - Penlod, do you think this ... When this should be over? Will this ever happen?  
\- I've read a lot about healing, but I'm not a healer, and I do not know what's wrong with your brother now, - said Penlod. - But Nelyo, it's still too long. I would have expected him to recover in three years or less, a maximum of four or five, but it turns out that it's been almost ten years... I have to go home, but I advise you, I even ask you - find a doctor.  
\- And how are you?..  
Penlod did not say anything, but Maedhros once knew him very well. Seeing Penlod slightly blushing and turning away, Maedhros was surprised to realize that Penlod was absolutely happy, and was not surprised when Penlod apologized and walked away to avoid further questions.

Near Gondolin, the brothers had a feeling that someone was watching them.  
When they rode away, this feeling vanished.  
The weather was sunny and frosty and their tracks on snow were seen well enough to follow Fëanor's sons right up to their house.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The author of the letter confuses the letters nk and ñ, which stand in the alphabet of the tengwar in parallel, as well as the very similar p and t: penna "vowel, something that is missing" instead of tenna" letter". The closest expression of the concept of "being surprised" in Quenya I could come with is estel-pella "that which is beyond hope" (the equivalent of English "beyond hope"); the author of the letter writes instead of pella "outside" - tella "last, back".


	19. Fragile as the Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected guest calls and the fatal lock is found. Finduilas does not want to talk about the Halls of Mandos, but something she can remember starts an unexpected train of events...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was another chapter between this and the previous one: it was mostly about Turgon and Penlod talking about what happened in Gondolin. I've decided it was not necessary and I've cut it (a part of it will go to a later chapter).

  


The sun was shining bright as if the spring already came. Maglor and his herald Nariëndil opened large doors on the summer verandah and took Celegorm there, laying him on an light camp bed. Maglor covered him with his own cloak over the blanket. He hugged the younger brother, cautiously sitting down next to him on the shaky bed; Celegorm put his head on Maglor’s chest and fell asleep, weak as a tired child.  
In the yellow sunlight, Maitimo was startled when he looked at Celegorm. The eldest son of Fëanor remembered what Penlod had said: it took too long. Celegorm ought to get better already – but he wasn’t. 

Maedhros and Amrod stood at the porch, talking; they were the first to notice that a guest appeared in the courtyard. It was an Elf. He was dressed in a long gray jacket, thick, but old and covered with patches; under the jacket they could see a border of a purple silk tunic, trimmed with silver, filthy, with threads coming out in places. He had long, very thick dark chestnut hair, clasped on the back of his neck with a leather band in a thick ponytail. He seemed to Maedhros to be quite young, but who knows - maybe only his naive stare was childish, but in fact, he could have been more than a hundred years old.

The guest examined them all respectfully, timidly and with surprise, as a child looks at the teachers on the first day in school. In one hand, he held the handles of a small chest, in the other - two or three small bundles. One bundle, purple as his tunic, fell down. The young Elf-man bent forward to pick it up, dropped his chest and sprawled out in the middle of the yard on the ice, landing himself in a pool of melting water.  
\- Hello, - he said. He got up, leaning on the trunk, picked it up again and dragged his belongings to the porch, looking up to Maedhros and Amrod, then he looked around and saw Maglor and Celegorm. Celegorm woke up. Finduilas looked out of the window on the first floor with curiosity.  
\- Who are you? Maedhros frowned. - What do you want?  
\- You're Nelyafinwë, are you not? And Pityafinwë, - said the young Elf. – The sons of Fëanor.  
Maedhros put his left hand on the handle of a short sword on his belt.  
\- Who sent you? How did you find us?  
\- I'm here ... was following your tracks ... a horse ... then I asked ... I'm probably not on time ... - The young Elf dropped the chest again.  
\- And what is your name?  
\- C-c-l-br-m-br…  
\- Excuse me, what?  
\- I am so sorry, - the young man threw a haunted look at Celegorm. - I thought you were dead. Can I go?  
\- So what's your name, can you spell it? - Maedhros asked sternly.  
\- C-e-l-e-b-r-i-m-b-o-r, - said the youth.  
\- What an utterly ridiculous name, - Amrod snorted.  
Maedhros looked back at Celegorm and saw with amazement that tears were running down his cheeks.  
\- My dear, dear boy, - finally said Celegorm, - come here, I’ll embrace you. Come here, please, I cannot get up.  
The young man finally let down his belongings, went to Celegorm's bed, knelt, and somehow timidly crawled under his elbow.  
\- In Quenya, it’s Telperinquar, - he said, peering from under Celegorm's arm like a mouse from a hole. But the Sindarin form is easier somehow, I think.  
Celegorm stroked the youth’s head awkwardly and kissed him.  
\- This ... this is the son of Atarinkë, - he said.  
\- What? - Maglor quickly came to his senses. - What? Whose son?  
\- Telperinquar is Curufin’s son, - Celegorm repeated. - I knew that. I did not expect to see you again, lad, - he said to Celebrimbor.  
The young Elf stood up; Celegorm continued to hold his hand.  
\- Where are you ... where was he all this time? - asked Maglor.  
\- Atarinkë did not show him to anyone, - Celegorm explained.  
\- Just imagine that – we’ve noticed, - said Amrod.  
Maedhros scrutinized the young Elf’s face.  
\- Well, I think I saw you somewhere, - he said, - very long ago ... I somehow thought, Tyelko, that he was your retainer or domestic.  
\- He lived mostly in Gondolin, - Celegorm said. - Atarinkë wanted him to be safe and at the same time he should have learned the arts and crafts and become a master – not worse than himself.  
\- Very well, - Maedhros said. - Suppose you are Curufin's son. Why did you come to us now and what did you do after taking Gondolin?  
\- I did not know where you lived, - said Celebrimbor. - And how to find you. Then I saw you and Uncle Pityafinwë (Amrod rolled his eyes) on the ruins of Gondolin. Then I followed your footsteps and got here.  
\- Have you stayed in Gondolin? - Celegorm asked. - Why, why did not you escape with everyone?  
\- But I did, - Celebrimbor sighed. – I’ve twisted my ankle along the way. I fell down and slid down from the slope. My elbow was all bruised. I’ve got back to the road at night, and there was no one already. I tried to get out of there myself and got lost completely. I was scared to leave by myself, frankly. I decided to stay in the mountains. It was scary, too, of course, I still felt the smoke and all this stench for a long time. On the ruins, there were a lot of marauders, mostly Men, but some Dwarves, too. However, they did not climb up and no one have seen me. I went up, found a cave and stayed there; someone already lived in it before me, so I’ve got a good place there.  
\- Who could live in the cave? - Maglor asked incredulously.  
\- I do not know, but someone lived there very recently. There were old shoes, blankets, some plates, and all sorts of other things. They were certainly Quendi: most likely, judging by their possessions, it was a lord or, perhaps, a lady, and his or her servant, but I do not know for sure if they were men or women. I found there some warm winter dresses and blankets, otherwise I would not have anything like that.  
\- Still, it’s weird, - said Maglor.  
\- Why not, - Celegorm shrugged. - If, for example, I just came to Gondolin, knowing nothing about it, like Ëol, and then they would not let me go back, perhaps I would not want to live in the city either, but would go away as far as I could.  
Maedhros agreed: yes, it made sense. It was also understandable if these unwilling guests took advantage of assault on Gondolin to get out of the place as soon as possible.  
\- You may stay in my room, it’s large, - Celegorm suggested. - Cano, please, take me back, I'll help to arrange it. Nariëndil, take his things.  
Nariëndil lifted the trunk, bundles, but the small bundle, stripped red and blue, Celebrimbor did not give to him. From the porch they could hear Celegorm forcefully, but without his usual venom of late, giving orders in his chamber, ordering to lay Celebrimbor’s bed and find a wardrobe.  
\- I just did not know what to do, - Celebrimbor continued, turning to Maedhros. - I heard about my father before the fall of the city, but they told me that Uncle Turcafinwë and Uncle Morifinwë also died. I do not know anyone in the family except Uncle Turcafinwë; you just can’t come like that and tell people – hi, am your nephew... I wanted to get back to the rest of the Gondolintrim, but how could I make it through the whole Beleriand?.. And Uncle Turucáno asked me to find you.  
\- What for? - asked Maedhros.  
\- When the assault started, he found me and told me to leave as soon as possible and give something to you personally, - explained Celebrimbor.  
Maedhros somehow expected that his nephew would say something to him, but he just unfolded the stripped bundle and took out a small gray packet, unfolded it - and they saw a gray-and-green piece of wood with a silver plate on which there were two trees, two stars and two graceful figures - a man and a woman - with long hair soaring in the wind.  
\- The lock, - Amrod finally uttered.  
\- This thing is yours, is not it? - Celebrimbor asked.  
\- Yes, - answered Maedhros.  
He turned the plaque in his hand. The silver plate around the keyhole was preserved entirely, but the walls around were roughly chopped off. On the cut, he saw the monstrously complicated locking device of the casket, about which Amrod told him and Mairon. He saw several layers of materials, of which the walls consisted: several types of metal, different in color and texture, different alloys, one thin gold leaf, and at least two layers of wood. Thin spokes of the locking mechanism protruded from the walls; their chopped ends glittered like tear droplets. Amrod held out his hand, and Maedhros handed him the lock.  
\- I thought it was the whole wall of the casket, and it’s just the lock chopped off, - Amrod shook his head.  
Maedhros felt at his neck the strap on which the key was. Without removing it, he took the key out and inserted it into the keyhole, turned it routinely - to the right, to the left, to the right, to the left. He felt that he had to make a little effort; he was afraid to break the key, but the lock yielded. Hinges moved, stretching to the sides, and he pulled out the key.  
\- You see, I’ve closed it, - he turned to Amrod. - It closes. The lock was opened with a key. It’s not brocken.  
\- Yes, - Amrod nodded, - and they did not even try to break it or force it open it. There is a part of the top edge of the wall - as you see, no one tried to lift the lid here, although it was possible, for example, to try to make it with a sword. The one who took away the lock, apparently, knew nothing about the mechanism of the casket. I'm even more convinced that it was Fingon, - sighed Amrod. - Now it is understandable why Grandfather's sword was so bent and crooked – they’ve cut the casket with it. Of course, Finwë's sword was one of the best works of our father, but the walls of the casket were still too strong for it.  
Maedhros continued to hold the lock in his hands. It seemed to him that the lock would remain a load on his neck; he took out the key carefully.  
Now the casket of the Silmarilles was locked again.  
***  
\- Come on, Maitimo, - Celegorm said, laughing, - he's so cute.  
Celebrimbor lived with them for a week, and Maitimo had to admit - yes, his nephew was cute.  
\- Are not you crazy about the way he calls us? "Uncle Nelyafinwë", "Uncle Canafinwë" ... – Maglor made a wry face.  
\- Oh yes! Remember, - Amrod turned to Celegorm, - how we discouraged you from marrying Aredhel exactly because in that case someone would call us "Uncle Pityafinwë" and "Uncle Telufinwë".  
He smiled, which was rare when he had to talk about his dead twin brother.  
\- It's all because Turgon told him that to call one’s senior anything else than a father's name meant to exhibit atrociously bad manners, - said Maedhros.  
Despite his shy and disorderly appearance, even during these few days Celebrimbor made their life much better. He gently reined in the remaining servants and retainers (since Maedhros gave up on everything for a long time, they all came loose): they repaired the doors, repaired or replaced the cracked frames; which was even more important, he revised and made an inventory of the remaining weapons and armor. It turned out that in a small book in a yellow leather embossed binding with the emblem of Fëanor, Celebrimbor accurately recorded all kinds of particulars about his relatives, which he learned from his father. Two weeks later, in early March, Amrod had a day of conception (the fact he preferred to forget, because this day reminded him of his deceased twin brother). The nephew said that it was necessary to make a celebration, and an embarrassed Amrod unexpectedly agreed to go with him to the market on the next day, which was a day's journey from their house to buy something for this.  
Finduilas, who, with the help of Nariëndil, assembled lunch and lit the candles (the sky was still light, but it was already dark in the living room), heard about it, and almost jumped. Perhaps they first saw the girl so thrilled from the moment she appeared in the house. She threw on a shawl, went out to the verandah and sat down on the railing; smiling and squinting, she looked at the setting sun.  
\- Findulais, tell me, please, when do you have your conception day? - asked Amrod.  
\- Which one? - she answered. - I remember both of them. The first one is a day after the second.  
It turned out that the second day of the conception of Finduilas was on the same day as Amrod’s; Amrod was completely at a loss, flushed and looked sideways at the girl: he really wanted to say "look, what a coincidence!" or "it's great", but could not open his mouth.  
\- Well, you see, it's nice, - said Maglor, - we can celebrate both. And how old will you be?  
\- On my first one I would be three hundred twenty-three or three hundred and twenty-four years old, I can not count it properly now, - the girl sighed. - And on the second I’ll be only twenty-five.  
\- Finduilas, and you ... - Maedhros began.  
\- I'm tired of that name and I'm sad when I hear it; Maybe you'll call me Faelivrin? - she said.  
\- Yes ... Faelivrin ... Faelin ... tell me, how is it was ... there? - Maedhros asked softly. - After. In the Halls.  
\- I was asked a lot by Gorthaur about this, -she answered, looking at the evening sky, where the sun had already disappeared, and the gloomy winter twilight was coming in. – A strange feeling, indeed: sometimes you go, you see others, then it’s as if you start to fall asleep and you are falling through – farther and deeper; then it’s as if you become weightless and take off again. I remember something, but something I do not. Something, probably, I do not want to remember. I remember that they asked me to remember. My father wanted to apologize... to say to someone he is sorry, and my Uncle Angrod too; I will. Uncle Finrod I do not remember at all: he, probably, was already reborn and left the Halls.  
\- Do you remember ... my brother? - asked Amrod. - He ... he's just like me.  
\- Yes, - she answered, - yes, yes; I saw him, I remember. I felt that he really wants happiness for you. He wants you not to blame yourself. To not think that you are to blame for what happened. He will be happy then.  
Maedhros was silent. Maglor asked a question that Maedhros could not ask; he was infinitely grateful to him for it.  
\- Have you seen Fingon? The King of Noldor, - he added an unnecessary explanation. – Would he like ... would he like to say something ... to someone?  
Finduilas paused and pondered.  
\- No, - she said at last. - He ... he refused to talk about you. About all the Noldor. It seemed to me that he was very ... very ... - Seeing Maedhros constantly twisting with his thumb the ring with the broken scarlet petals on the index finger of his left hand, the girl fell silent and painfully blushed. - I ... I'm sorry, uncle. I could have dreamed all this.  
The daughter of Orodreth went into the house, nervously looking back at Amrod.

Maedhros and Amrod did not say anything about this conversation to Celegorm, but apparently, he learned about it from Maglor. There was an unpleasant argument between Celegorm and Amrod; "Do you understand that she wants to drive you crazy?" – Celegorm shouted.  
Amrod ran out, slamming the door and they went to the market together with Celebrimbor without saying good-bye to anyone. Celegorm said - not for the first time in the last year - that he was tired, he wanted to have a break and asked to move him to a hunting lodge in the woods nearby, where one of his Men-servants could to look after him.

\- It's unbearable, - said Maglor, turning to Maedhros. - I was ready to accept Finduilas, since Pityo insisted on this. I believe you and Pityo, that you have decided all of sudden to go to the ruins of Gondolin for nothing, just to see if the grave of Uncle Fingolfin was still there. And if Tyelco says that he knew this young man before, as the son of Curufin, I do not object. However, I, in the end, can have a right not to believe. I can not do anything about Finduilas, but I can at least check Celebrimbor’s story and make sure that the place where he hid all these years really does exist.  
\- Are you ready to go to Gondolin for this? - Maedhros asked in bewilderment.  
\- Yes, I will go with Nariëndil. Forgive me, but I'm tired and I want at least some sort of certainty. Moreover, I do not like this Celebrimbor fellow. Even if he is physically a son of Atarincë. He behaves like an innocent teenager, - but how do you think, how old he is?  
Maedhros shrugged his shoulders.  
\- I thought he was a youth of about eighty, a maximum of one hundred, - he replied.  
\- Maitimo, I remember him well in Aman in Curvo’s retinue. Yes, then he was still very young and then he really was not more than fifty - I even think he was a minor, closer to thirty. It means that he is more than five hundred years old. Do you think his behavior is normal?  
Maedhros sighed wearily.  
\- Oh Cáno, if you had lived so many years with Turgon, you would have looked at everyone with round eyes of a three-day-old rabbit and called everyone their father's names. But if you really want to go, I do not mind ...

*** 

Amrod returned from the market very pleased and dragged Maedhros into a corner.  
\- Look what I have for Faelivrin, - he said.  
He took a gift out of his bag: it was carefully wrapped in a thick woolen scarf. It was an amazing glass flower vase. It seemed that the iridescent opal-blue glass was woven from the spring air; the walls of the vase were pierced by light green stems of flowers; at their tips bloomed pink and purple, translucent petals.  
Maedhros silently stared at the thing for a long time.  
\- Good, - he said with an effort.  
\- Maitimo, what’s wrong? - asked Amrod.  
\- I like it very much... I just ...  
Finduilas came down from the attic, and Amrod hid the gift hastily.  
\- Hello, - she turned to Amrod. - I ... I wanted to tell you ... and where is Maglor?  
\- He already left with Nariëndil, - Maedhros answered.  
\- Well ... probably, it's not so important. I just wanted to say ... I woke up today and remembered. About the things you asked me yesterday. What I remembered. It's not what I saw in the Halls, I just recalled something that happened later.  
Maitimo's heart was cold; he felt that he would not hear anything good.  
\- I said that I lived in an Angband in a tower. It was not so bad - I had two rooms, no one came in there except Gwathren. - Maitimo noticed Amrod's gloomy look, but he knew that Finduilas did not mean anything bad; besides, unlike them all, she has no reason to hate Gwathren, who did her no harm, and even on the contrary: he guarded during her stay in Angband. - And on the opposite side of the wall, there was a parallel tower. In addition, there was a window there. I saw the one who lived in the opposite tower. His face seemed familiar, but now I remember who it was. This was Turgon, King of Gondolin.  
\- It can not be, Faelivrin, - Amrod said, shocked. - He died. He is certainly dead.  
Maedhros was silent.  
\- It was he, - insisted Finduilas, - I saw him well.  
\- And... what did he look like? - asked Amrod.  
\- I noticed him the first day I got there. He looked... bad... very sad, and he was wearing weird clothes.  
\- Why was it weird? - asked Maedhros.  
\- It was like ... I do not know ... It looks like an ordinary shirt, but... I don’t know. He was somehow always adjusting it, as if he was not used to wearing it.  
\- Was he there the whole time you were there? - Amrod specified.  
\- No, - answered Finduilas, - I think it lasted a year or a little less; then he disappeared somewhere. But in the last two or three months he looked better. Maybe at first he was wounded - there were quite high windows, I only saw his face and hands. I do not know what the matter was.  
\- Even if it was him, he probably is no longer alive, since you stopped seeing him, - sighed Amrod.  
\- I do not know ... it seems to me, Gwathren... He was there, and he always treated Turgon well; I saw him help him put on his dress and bring him food. It seems to me that Gwathren would be upset if Turgon did something bad happened to Turgon, and that was not - he seemed to be even more cheerful.  
\- You know him better, of course, - Amrod said, referring to Gwathren, - but...  
\- Faelivrin, do you have any idea what was in that tower? Jail? Laboratory? - asked Maedhros.  
\- There ... it seems to me, there were chambers of Lord Maeglin, - said Finduilas miserably. - I even ... somehow I did not put that and that together...  
Maedhros was silent. Amrod looked expectantly at his brother.  
Maedhros remembered the glass flower vase that Amrod had just shown him. Amrod, of course, did not think of it, but Maedhros himself saw the works of Turgon before and could not confuse them with anything.

He was well acquainted with all the children of Fingolfin and often visited them at home, but there was one oddity: he never went to see Turgon's room - it was always locked up. Fingon said with a laugh that, unlike the younger children, Turgon keeps an ideal order and he, Fingon, does not have to tidy up his room.  
One day, having come to his uncle’s house, Maedhros found there no one but Turgon. He, with his usual restrained courtesy, offered him milk and biscuits; Maedhros was sitting opposite him in the huge white kitchen. Turgon was smiling at him, and Maedhros had the courage to ask:  
\- Why do you keep your room closed all the time?  
\- If you want, - Turgon replied, - I'll show you.  
He held out to Maedhros his narrow hand and led him along the corridor. Turgon turned the key and went in. It was morning, but the room was very dark; outside the window there were thick bushes sprinkled with tiny red flowers, the thick, dark ivy was growing all around the arched pane. Turgon lit the lights.  
Here there were light-shining opal-crystal flowers, honey-orange vessels with golden sparks inside, translucent vases with silver handles and outlandish emerald berries frozen in their walls, a set of writing appliances resembling a green wave of foam; thin-walled fragile, absolutely transparent lamps - the icy patterns on them soared in the air around the candles.  
\- It's ... it's incredible, - Maitimo said. - Did you make all this? Why do not you show this to anyone?  
\- It's just glass, - Turgon smiled. - Nothing special.

One day, a few years after that day, Maitimo saw during the reception at Fingolfin's house a lilac-golden vase shimmering on the table-the work of Turgon. Feanor and Fingolfin approached her; Fingolfin said something, and Maitimo heard Fëanor say,  
\- It's only heated sand and ashes, Aracáno. - When Feanor wished to show his disapproval, he called Fingolfin his mother's name, - your son is not ten years old, and he's making sand pies. I do not understand why you put this on the table. It's all not real. - Fëanor nervously touched the necklace on his neck.  
Maitimo felt terribly uncomfortable; from the corner of his eye, he saw Turgon grow pale. When the guests parted, he went down into the garden; He wanted to ask for forgiveness from Turgon, to say something encouraging to him; He went to the window of his room and realized – it was too late.  
The whole room, floors, bed, walls, table - were strewn with sparkling rubble; Penlod and Fingon held Turgon’s hands, but everything was already broken. Maitimo was terribly frightened for Fingon - in such defeat he could dangerously cut himself.  
\- Stop it! Stop it immediately! - Fingon grabbed the hands of his younger brother so that Maedhros thought he was about to break Turgon’s wrists. Penlod hugged Turgon frantically from behind, his face buried in his back. - What are you doing, brother! - Never before Maedhros has seen such fury on Fingon's face. - You have no right to do this! Turyo!  
Turgon was silent. He was trembling all the time, and for the first time – and perhaps, last time in his life - Maedhros saw him crying.  
Maitimo loved Turgon. He loved him, because he was Fingon's brother - although he knew about their agonizing break-up, which Fingon was trying to hide from him. In addition, he simply loved him, because he understood that despite his majestic appearance, which he had created for himself here in Middle-earth, Turgon was a pure, fragile, defenseless and vulnerable creature, like his glass flowers, and, thought Maitimo, one blow was enough to break him.  
He had already tormented himself enough by the thought that Turgon was dying when he, a healthy, strong and dexterous warrior (he had forgotten about the lost right hand for a long time), did nothing to help at least try to save him. Now he could not live on with the thought that Turgon was captured, that he was derided, tortured, possibly - raped.  
\- I have to find him, - he said, turning to Amrod. – I must. At least I have to try. I have to get him out of there.  
\- If you think you owe him... - Amrod began.  
\- No! - Maedhros answered with indignation. - Of course not! - He realized that Amrod meant to say "if you think you have to repay Fingon for saving you”.  
\- Maitimo ... Maitimo, this is suicidal, - Amrod said. He turned anxiously to Finduilas, dismayed. - It's... it's probably a mistake. I would also like him to be alive, but this cannot be. Even if he is alive, Maitimo, just consider... More than ten years in captivity. He could not be sane now.  
\- Can I? - Maedhros asked.  
Amrod's breath caught when he realized what he said.  
\- I did not mean you, Maitimo. I’m sorry. But you know that the Enemy especially hated him. I'm just scared to imagine what they could do to him.  
\- Me too, - said the elder brother. – That’s why I must try to find him.  
\- How will you do it? – Amrod was even more alarmed.  
Maedhros thought about it.  
\- It's a very unpleasant task for me, - he finally answered, - but since Faelivrin said that she saw Turgon in the Maeglin's rooms, first of all we must turn to Maeglin to learn about Turgon's fate. As far as I know, now in my former citadel, in Himring there is a garrison from Angband, which is headed by Salgant, a former Gondolin Noldo and a friend of Maeglin. Maeglin often comes there. If Turgon is really not in Angband anymore, it may mean he was removed from there to Himring. I know several ways to get into Himring, which Salgant hardly had time to find out. This should be enough to meet with Maeglin and ask him.  
\- I'm with you, - Amrod said.  
\- Do not, Pityo, - sighed Maedhros. - It's none of your business at all."  
\- No, I must not leave you, you know."  
\- I'll go too, - Finduilas said suddenly. - I do not want to stay at home without you, uncle, I'll be scared. Besides, I am a niece of Angrod the Iron-Handed: I have strong hands and good sight. My father, King Orodreth, did not want me to fight – but my second father was a simple forest Elf, and he taught me how to use a bow. When Maeglin tells you everything you need, I will gladly send an arrow in his temple through both of his eyes.

  



	20. The Silver Bracelet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maedhros visits Himring, his former home: he gets a mysterious advice, helps a prisoner... and meets a girl. A very odd girl indeed!

Salgant looked out. His rooms - Maedhros' former private apartments - were at the top, where the walls ended and huge towers began. A wide, carved walkway on the top of the wall fenced by a parapet on both sides - five horsemen could ride here - connected the south tower with the western.  
The southern tower was residential; in the west, there was a workshop and chambers, where Maedhros once stored his books, musical instruments, paintings and other objects of art. Now there was not much left of all this; a few miraculously preserved harps and a lute Salgant took to himself.  
Through the glass door, Salgant saw two women on the walkway, approaching him from the western tower: his concubine Zaireth and her friend. Although in Gondolin Salgant was the head of a House, he did not know much except playing his harp. All affairs were handled by his younger brother, who did not survive the capture of the city. When, at the insistence of Maeglin, he was appointed to command the garrison of Himring, Salgant was completely taken aback; Maeglin's instructions did not help.  
Zaireth, a brisk young Edain woman appeared from nowhere and quickly landed the stupid Elf; even the Orcs obeyed her. The former head of the House of Harp thought with horror what would happen when she will be getting old. Physically, his relationship with her did not quite work out, and Salgant did not need sex very much. When he was told that Zaireth was having fun with other men, he swept it under the rug, which also did not enhance his reputation in the eyes of his subordinates.  
Zaireth took off her light and warm leather vest; her friend was wearing a gray coat of rabbit fur. Salgant looked with mistrust and some dislike at the pretty Lalaith. She wore a heavy dress of lilac brocade with elegant silver patterns, obviously made by Elves. The dress was ornamented by two rows of pearl buttons (the largest pearl was taken – he knew in immediately, - from the silver tree in Gondolin); In her ears there were diamond earrings in the form of harps; in her a light chestnut locks sparkled a diamond hair-slide, also a tiny harp. He did not have any idea where this girl came from and what were her sources of income, especially since she always talked about a profitable marriage.  
"Oh, Zaireth," Lalaith said, in a rather clumsy Sindarin, "what an Elf you've got! He is such a good-looker. I also want to marry an Elf”.  
"His own people do not consider him particularly handsome," Zaireth said, as if Salgant wasn’t there. "They say he's fat."  
“Oh, what a nonsense! It’s just his cheeks – so plump and rosy!” - exclaimed Lalaith.  
She jumped to Salgant and brazenly pinched his cheek; the Elf felt a long fingernail nearly poking his eye out.  
"Why would you marry an Elf, you're mortal," Salgant said disgruntledly.  
"And maybe I want, like Andret and Aegnor, to have great feelings, to have a great love affair to hide, experience and remember," Lalaith said, giving a romantic sob.  
“But Andreth was never happy, she did not marry Aegnor”, - observed Zaireth.  
"What if I want to remain mighty in the lore of my people? Drunk men, remembering me, will start to cry and yell the songs about me! By the way, is Maeglin married?”, Lalaith asked.  
The forthcoming arrival of Maeglin did not please Salgant at all, especially since he warned that this time he would come "with the family". Salgant did not really understand what had happened to his friend, why he had two children and why he told that both of these children are his father Ëol.  
"He had someone... there are children," Salgant said. – “So he is very probably married”.  
"Why do you even need this Maeglin, what can he do?" Zaireth winked. – “Come with me, let’s have fun. I have one really beautiful Elf there”.  
"Oh, Zaireth, come on, really…", Lalaith began to stroke with her finger the big pearl under her throat, and for some reason it looked awfully indecent, "I want to be honestly married, and if I have fun with a male before I go to the bridal bed…"  
"There are a number of ways to have fun," Zaireth said. Her green eyes narrowed, and her ruffled, ruddy face with flat cheeks stretched out somehow predatorily in the side in an unpleasant smile; At that moment Salgant seemed like a reptile. "He is obedient, I trained him well."  
Lalaith rose and adjusted her dress, deliberately making saucy gestures around her high breasts.  
It was sometimes difficult for Salgant to know that he actually allowed Zaireth to torment his fellow Elves. He justified himself by the fact that for the most part it did not hurt much – it just was very unpleasant and embarrassing. As well as for him. When he got for Zairet, a couple of Sauron’s collars that blocked resistance, he justified himself, too - after all, if the captive Elves meekly obeyed, they were not tortured or starved. With all this Salgant loved Zaireth in his own way, and now he felt lonely, as never before, in this huge room with gray walls and high vaults, which still retained the stamp of the personality of its former severe master.  
Salgant would be even more uncomfortable if he knew how close Maedhros was to him now.

"It's a pity that I did not learn anything from the merchant who sold me the vase," Amrod whispered to his older brother, while Finduilas unpacked the bundle with their weapons. They still hoped to celebrate her day of conception and did not tell the girl about the gift, which, as it seemed, was the work of Turgon.  
Maedhros shrugged his shoulders. He did not expect to find out anything - surely the person who was selling the work of a captive Elf, could well cover up tracks. Maedhros, of course, did not know all the rules for dealing with slaves in the country of Morgoth, Dor Daedeloth. Still, he was aware that if captives were the property of Morgoth himself, of Sauron or some of their closest assistants and were engaged in manufacturing of strategically important items: metals, weapons, the building of walls – an attempt to use their labor for personal enrichment could lead to a serious trouble.  
Squinting, he looked at the steep rock, towering above it the wall of the fortress and on the parapet between the towers.  
He threw off his jacket, despite the cold.  
"Faelivrin, please roll up my sleeve." He held out his right, mutilated hand. The girl lifted the sleeve up to his shoulder; his forearm above the elbow was decorated with a wide silver bracelet.  
"Why do you need a bracelet in this place?" asked Amrod. "I have not seen it before ..."  
"These bracelets are worn by adult Vanyar men," recalled Finduilas. – “Uncle Angrod said that his father Finarfin sometimes wore them, too”.  
"Yes," Maedhros said. "Finrod made one for me, and he told me how to make a use of it. Look here, see the pattern between the roses?”  
Between the two silver roses on the bracelet stretched a thin stem, on which buds of flowers, as it seemed, spread out in a whimsical chaos.  
"There, on the wall," Maedhros explained, "there are supports for the arms and legs. They are invisible from the outside, and they are arranged without a particular order. These flowers on the stem show how they are placed - from the bottom up. The pattern of nine is repeated five times, changing direction. Remember it, please. I would even like you to reproduce it. You can do it here on the snow - and clean it out immediately. So you can get on the walkway between the towers. There is also a return way: if you lift one of the slabs, there is a tunnel along which you can slide down; it is cut down in the wall and in the rock below it. The exit is high enough, just jumping out of it is dangerous, so you'll have to tie a rope to the ring under the slab.  
"But then the rope will stick out from the tunnel, it can be seen, and the tunnel can no longer be used," Amrod said.  
"That's right," Maedhros answered. “You can either carefully make a cut on the rope and then, strongly pulling, cut it from below or cut it with a shot of the bow. But a shot from the bow will be needed in any case - there are guards on the wall. As far as I know, the guard is off duty every four hours or even less; If both guards are killed by an arrow at once, there is a strong possibility that they will not notice this for quite some time”.  
Although they risked much, the sons of Fëanor decided that Finduilas would be shooting at the sentries. Maedhros could not shoot even if he wore an artificial limb (as regards everything else, he could do well without one), and after practicing before leaving, they found out that Finduilas was shooting much better than Amrod.  
At that moment, from a distance, a dull whine of bronze pipes sounded, and from behind the forest Maeglin’s cavalcade appeared. They could not come closer, but they noticed Maeglin, dressed in a black coat, on a black horse with a long golden horsecloth. Ahead came a standard-bearer, and next to him, on a horse whose reins were tied to the saddle of Maeglin's horse, there was a very tall rider, dressed in a gray cloak. His hands and head were lowed, and he seemed to be almost asleep. Amrod pushed his older brother with his elbow, but Maedhros’s heart shrinked - yes, it could have been Turgon.  
They waited for the procession to enter the fortress. After a while, they saw Maeglin pacing behind the parapet. Next to him appeared a woman in a bright lilac dress, which, amid the white glint of snow and the gray clouds above Himring, seemed to shine on its own. Then they went into the tower.  
Salgant heard Maeglin's harsh, hoarse voice in the yard and knew that he had to meet him, but he did not have the heart. Maeglin appeared in the rooms of Salgant, shaking snow from a black fur on his collar.  
"Well, it's not bad," he said, "better than I thought. You can go, I'll stay here". Maeglin looked around the room with an arrogant look. "Ah, Lalaith," he said.  
"Dear Maeglin, I've been waiting for you, can I say a few words? Let's go out”. The girl grabbed him by the arm and led him outside.  
Salgant took a harp, a plaid and a cup; He sighed and went to the window.  
"Does she still want to marry Maeglin?.." he thought.  
"Oh, I do not know, Lalaith", Maeglin said. Salgant heard their voices very well. – “It will be difficult. I do not know how I can insert this into our conversation. And if he does not believe me?”  
"And you, Maeglin, do as I say," Lalaith said - very friendly. "Well, just do as I told you. You're so nice. Both you and I are so very kind. We are a couple of hopeless romantics, aren’t we? You want to bring the lovers together, don’t you? And I'll help you a little. Maybe at the same time I'll give him to me?”, she said, pointing to the prisoner Maeglin had brought with him.  
Salgant recalled how Zaireth and Lalaith can amuse themselves, and he felt uneasy at the thought of what lovers and how they might want to unite. He hurriedly went downstairs into the courtyard; He became frightened and very much wanted to find Zaireth. At least she knew how to pity him - sometimes.

Maeglin established himself in the chambers of Salgant and was almost happy. He was with his family (well, not everyone travelled with him here, but still it was good); here they were all by themselves, and he was his own master. He often wanted to ask for an appointment to Himring or the like for himself, but he justly feared that then Melkor would understand that he, Maeglin, no longer felt the same eagerness to serve him. He was about to come out of the balcony door and take a stroll to the western tower. Maeglin turned around -  
\- and in the doorway before him suddenly appeared the true master of Himring - the very malevolent and armed elder son of Fëanor. Out of the tail of his eye, he saw a guard's body with an arrow in his throat near the parapet.

Amrod clasped his hand tightly. He had not felt such fear for his brother for a long time; even during the battle in Doriath, when he saw a hatchet over the elder brother’s head, he did not believe that Maedhros might die.  
Finduilas moved her hand and pointed to the left. On the parapet bench, they saw a figure in a heavy cloak with a hood, all covered in snow; an elf, who looked like a clumsily postured porcelain doll. He did not even hide his limp dangling hands into his pockets or sleeves: melt water dripped from his fingers.  
"Yes, it's Turgon's hands," thought Amrod. Only now he imagined everything that Maedhros was talking about; he realized that the elder brother, himself, the survivor, experienced a twofold pain for those who were imprisoned.  
"Faelivrin, we shall take him - we came after him!" He whispered to the girl.  
Amrod looked at the railing, found the eighth pillar from the south wall, found the fifth stone from the edge, ran up to it, and, taking his sword from the murdered Orc guard, raised the stone. Under it he indeed found a heavy iron ring, to which he tied a rope.  
"You're the first, I'll take him and follow you," Amrod said.  
"And what about the rope?"  
"We'll turn the stone, but leave the rope for Maitimo. If he ... if he can not get out, you shoot and cut it out. Come, quickly!”  
Amrod pressed his left hand to the weak, emaciated body of the captive and slid down the rope, squeezing it with his right hand. He successfully jumped down and saw that Finduilas was rubbing her bruised thigh.  
“How are you?”  
"It's all fine, I did not break the bow."  
The girl threw back the hood from the captive Elf's face, and exclaimed in bewilderment:  
"Oh Elbereth, who is this?"

Maeglin panicked and rushed to the side, trying to hide in the pantry; Maedhros raised his sword, opened the door with his foot and tapped with his sword the curtain, where Maeglin holed up.  
“Da-ad!” Maeglin shouted in horror. – “Dad, help me, please! He will kill me!”  
"He's completely mad," thought Maedhros. "What dad? Ëol is long gone ... or does he call Melkor his father?..”.  
Someone jerked him by the sash with which his chain mail was girdled. Maedhros turned sharply; In front of him stood a little boy with long dark, slightly curly hair.  
"You, what’s your name again…" the boy said arrogantly. "Maedhros ... put down your sword, my son is afraid of you."  
“What”, asked Maedhros, stunned. "Your ... who?"  
"My son is afraid of you," a second same voice rang out, and a second boy appeared: he looked exactly the same but his hair were trimmed a little shorter. On the black shirt of the first boy there was a pattern of red carnations, on the shirt of the second one the carnations were blue.  
Maeglin, using Maedhros’s embarrassment, stuck his head out from under the curtain, but Maedhros immediately put the sword to his neck.  
“What is all about?”, asked Maedhros again. "You ... who are you?"  
"I am Ëol," answered the first. "You can call me Ëolin."  
"I'm Ëol," said the second. "You can call me Ëolet."  
"You see, that' what I’ve got in exchange for my faithful service to my Master," Maeglin said. "My father was reborn and now he is with me."  
Apparently, this should came very proud and aggressive, but in fact Maeglin's voice sounded very depressed.  
“What do you want from him?” Ëolin asked.  
"I ... we were looking for Turgon. The former King of Gondolin. We supposed that he was here in captivity... and that he was with Maeglin... with your son".  
Maedhros shifted his gaze from one boy to another, but he did not understand why there were two of them and with whom, in fact, he had to talk.  
Both boys sighed.  
"Unfortunately, Turgon already escaped", Ëolet said miserably. "He did not want to stay with this idiot. Sauron closed his eyes to this - he had, as I understand it, his reasons for that, and my son had to do the same. Someone informed Melkor about this, and Sauron had to replace Turgon with another Noldo, since he did not want to look for Turgon and to return him to Angband. So, unfortunately, I can not help you find him”.  
"I understand... Well, I still not quite understand", replied Maedhros. "Where's your mother?"  
“You still don’t understand, do you?” Ëolin asked.  
"Stupid sons of Feanor," Ëolet said with satisfaction.  
"They're holding onto things," Ëolin said. "They are clinging to things, and hold on. They cannot stop and think. You’ve lost your arm, but you still hold on. You should have lost the second one. Maybe then you would start to think for yourself”.  
Maedhros thought about it. He did not like his own thoughts at all.  
"So how were you reborn?" - he wanted to ask Ëol, but did not. Instead, he said:  
"Why did Sauron let Turgon escape? You, Maeglin, can you explain to me?”  
"I do not know ..." Maeglin sighed, and looked nervously at Ëolin and Ëolet. "It all got so messy somehow ... I just really felt sorry for my uncle."  
Ëolin burst out laughing; Ëolet knocked his finger emphatically on his temple.  
Maitimo looked at the cousin’s nephew with perplexity. He spoke of this as if he had not destroyed the city built by Turgon, kept Turgon in captivity, and (Maitimo already realized this) - raped him; he said he was sorry as if a brick had accidentally fallen on Turgon’s head.  
"Maedhros," said Ëolet, "of course, you can not see the situation from _our point of view_ , but everything is really very problematic. Perhaps, it was not Turgon’s most virtuous decision, but when he found a loophole, he had to flee. He will find you himself one day. Be very careful - none of your brothers can be trusted. And... " Ëolet thought about it, then looked at Ëolin; Ëolin nodded, and the second Ëol continued: "Do not harm Gwathren."  
“Why should I?” asked Maedhros, frowning.  
"Well, if only because he saved your life in Doriath, - even on Sauron’s instructions", Ëolet said. "Now leave quickly."  
Maitimo went to the balcony and rushed to the familiar stone, which had already closed; there was no one around. Directly in front of him there was a blue door in the wall; it was, as he recalled, a storage room, where books, maps and writing utensils were stored. Realizing that it was stupid, Maymito opened the door.  
There was a light - on the desk stood two candles. Gwathren sat at the table and wrote something. He wore a short shirt - in a room without windows, it was stuffy and hot, despite the winter. And Maedhros saw on his forearm above the elbow a dark wide scar, a strip of either torn or burnt skin; it could be a reminder of a long-worn shackle. His blond locks were gathered in a long tail; in the glow of candles, they seemed golden.  
Gwathren turned his head and looked at the tall red-haired Quendi in a Noldor chain mail, as if he had seen him for the first time.  
Maitimo would not have killed an unarmed man - he could not see a bow or arrow in the room, and there was no sheath visible on the Gwathren’s belt. Gwathren jumped up from the table, and, remembering Ëolin’s warning, Maitimo closed the door and not only closed it, but also jammed the handle outside with the spear of the dead guard.  
He lifted the slab, grabbed the rope by his left hand, half-cut it, pulled it above the cut, slamming the stone closed, and flew down.

Sliding down the tunnel, Maedhros felt a tangible blow to the shoulder, which painfully shook the severed bone in his right hand. He decided that it was a loose stone, or even the iron ring that tore off together with the rope. But as soon as his feet touched the snow, and he pulled the rope to tear it away, something fell on of him, and he collapsed to the ground.  
Lalaith and the rope were over him.  
The girl in a lilac dress and a hare coat sat riding on him and enthusiastically shook him by the collar of his shirt.  
“Wow! Finally! What an Elf I’ve got!” - she grabbed his hand, surprisingly easy jerked him to him feet and exclaimed. “Oh, no, it will not go, you do not have a hand, it’s my bad luck again… Oh well, you at least give me this one!” - and she pointed with her finger at the one who was freed by Amrod and Finduilas. “He wouldn’t understand a thing anyway! I want to get married!”

Maeglin staggered to the empty balcony. Of course, he ought to raise an alarm, to call Salgant, to send someone after Maedhros ...  
The March snow fell on the towers and railings in a shroud; under it the faces of both dead guards had already disappeared .  
The wall here was very similar to one of the sections of the wall of Gondolin. Maeglin imagined himself sitting near the parapet on a bench - carved, white one, with golden roses on the handrails and legs. Turgon related him the pedigree of his family on the female line, explained something about their relationship to Indis and Anairë, about Maeglin’s family ties Elemmakil and other Gondolin lords. Maeglin did not hear anything - he just looked into Turgon’s clear, bright eyes and for the first time after he lost his parents, he was not scared.  
Maeglin started to cry, wiping tears with his frozen fingers; still weeping, he pulled on his gloves, but the tears continued to roll. A glove painfully scratched his eyelid as he lifted his hand to his eyes.  
Ëolin pulled him by the sleeve.  
"Son, let's go into the house," Ëolin said. "You can not ..."  
"All right," Maeglin sighed. “Okay. Still no luck”. He crouched down so that his eyes were level with the boy's eyes. "Father, is it okay if I leave you here for a couple of days with Salgant? I need to leave. I ... have an errand from my Lord. A secret mission. Come on”, he said, seeing the incredulous expression of both boys and gaining some self-confidence, "It’s all right. I think all this will turn out for the best”.

  



	21. The Murderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long-dead kinsman comes back.  
> A murderer strikes at night.  
> The murder weapon is found.  
> What's next?
> 
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've changed the order of chapters in a way that seems logical to me now :)  
> I know that the translation in the previous chapters was very sloppy - I promise to correct it as soon as I can!
> 
>   
> 

  


"It's ... it's Argon," Maedhros whispered. "He is Uncle Nolo's youngest son. Of course, Faelivrin, you do not know him. He... died during the passage through the Ice”.

"It's the frozen-brained Elf," Lalaith said confidently.  
Maedhros realized with horror that even after walking three miles away from Himring and getting to the place where they left their horses, they never got rid of the annoying girl.  
"Why would you need him? Is he really the son of a King of Elves? And, most important: does he have a girlfriend?”  
"Yes, he is our kinsman, and we are taking him with us," replied Maedhros. "If he's not in sound mind, then Salgant or Maeglin do not need him, either. Please leave!”  
"He's like a log," Lalaith shrugged. "So, perhaps you want to make money and sell him to his relatives? Are you going to send him to the young King Gil-Galad? Gil-Galad does not have that much money, Idril will not pay you either…”  
"We will take care of him," Maedhros said.  
"Then surely you need me." Lalaith smiled sweetly at Maedhros, as if he could give her one more portion of iced cake. “Because he obeys me. He’d make a very good husband!”  
“Does he?” Amrod asked skeptically.  
"Look," Lalaith said. She approached Argon, whom they had seated on a tree-stump and told him on the Taliska:  
"Get up!"  
To their terrible surprise, Argon slowly, uncertainly, rose to his feet. Then she said:  
"Sit down!"  
And he obeyed again.  
Maedhros already noticed that Argon did not react to words and sounds - neither to his own name, nor to calls or noise. Maedhros tried again - everything was useless.  
"Well, you see," Lalaith said haughtily. “Look”.  
She went to Argon and said:  
"Lie down!"  
The Elf obediently lay down on the wet snow. Maedhros helped him to stand up. This time, he noticed that after the command in Taliska, Lalaith whispered something else to his ear.  
"What are you whispering?" - he asked.  
"So I told you! I know the magic word, " Lalaith answered, shaking the snow from her sleeves. “Well, let's go already, I'm freezing!”  
Maedhros thought about it.  
"All right," he said. "We need to leave soon. You will go with me. You, Pityo, take Aracáno; you, Faelivrin, will ride between us”.  
Lalaith enthusiastically, but almost inaudibly screamed, sitting on a horse in front of Maedhros. She knocked the animal with her heels: the horse jerked and Maedhros nearly fell, having managed at the last moment to grab the reins with his left hand.

The next morning after their homecoming, having settled had Argon in a small room on the ground floor; they found out that Celegorm had also returned. His servant, a Man, a young fellow with whom Celegorm had left for his hunting lodge, put him on the bed, then apologized, went out, and through the window, they saw him mounting Celegorm’s horse and dashing away. The second retainer, who accompanied Celegorm last time, was nowhere to be seen.  
Maedhros was sad, but he did not even have time to ask his brother how he was. He was stopped by Lalaith, who came into the room and said:  
“Oh, good afternoon! Are you tired, you blond cutie? You are resting, aren’t you? Had he come from a hunt? Do you have any game? By the way, I can roast venison perfectly; I only need some wine and white pepper...”  
"I do not get up at all," Celegorm said. "I can not help you with food."  
“What’s going on here, really!” exclaimed Lalaith. "You, redhead, are without a hand, this one is disabled, the tall one is out of his mind… Moreover, the second redhead already has a girlfriend. I wanted to marry an Elf so much, can you imagine that? The Elves are so healthy; they are faithful and not prone to excessive drinking. Well, kind of... Look, you, one-handed boy, maybe we'll have a drink and celebrate our meeting after all, eh?”  
"We have nothing to drink here," replied Maedhros. He approached Celegorm and began to help him to pose himself more comfortably. It hurt him to see the face of the younger brother; it seemed to him that he was ready to cry.  
"Everyone left you," Maedhros thought. “Everyone. Even Curufin, - even if it was against his will. I will not leave you, brother, I promise". 

A sleepy Celebrimbor walked into the room. He was sleeping so tightly that he did not wake up when they returned late at night and stared in bewilderment at the unfamiliar, exquisitely dressed girl. In the morning, instead of the purple dress, she appeared in a green and pink stripped attire, although the bag that Lalaith had with her, seemed to be very small.  
"Hello," Lalaith said. “Let me fix your coat for you?” - she began to fasten buttons on Celebrimbor’s jacket.  
"Thank you," he replied in surprise. "Uncle Turcafinwë, let me change your pillow, it’s so flat. Let me make a breakfast for all of you: you all must be very tired”.  
"And since you're in control here, do you have a drink?" Lalaith asked him. “Everyone here seems boring and bored to tears”.  
"No, there's nothing," answered Celebrimbor, seemingly upset. “And it should be, because it's the day of conception of Faelivrin and Uncle Pitiyafinwë”.  
"So let's go to the market," Lalaith exclaimed, "if you want, I'll pay for the booze, I have some money – I’ve borrowed from Zaireth… I’ll repay her later, probably… Do you want me to choose meat for you?”

***  
Maedros realized that, apparently, during the journey to the market, Lalaith realized that Celebrimbor was not crippled and he did not have a girlfriend yet: on returning home, she called him "Tyelpe". Celebrimbor listened enthusiastically to her advices on how to buy foodstuffs. Back in Gondolin, no one, of course, tossed the goods on the scales, so that the scales showed more weight than it actually was, no one soaked the meat in water to make it heavier, and no one tried to sell frozen leftovers of rotten beef as a fresh lamb chop.

"Al least someone likes her," Amrod said in a low voice to his older brother. Just at that moment, flushed, Lalaith sat on a bench between him and Celebrimbor and began to pour them wine.  
They were in Celegorm's room: Finduilas insisted on this - she wanted to please him, although it was her day of conception.  
"I think Men get married pretty early," Celegorm remarked. "You're not sixteen already, are you not?"  
"Yes, in fact I do have a husband," Lalaith sobbed. "That scoundrel! My father threw me out because of him. I'm so lonely in this world. I had a sister, though, but she died”.  
"Why do not you leave him?" Finduilas asked with some sympathy.  
“Yes, I tried once. He nearly killed me. And my mother said: ‘stay, he will improve! Where can you find such a man nowadays?’”.  
"Well, it's even good for you that there's a war all around, - you can find a new husband, and then you'll say - I do not know anything, I thought my husband was dead," said Finduilas.  
"It would be nice," Lalaith sighed. “A couple of his dimwit friends were actually killed, but not all of them, and he seems to be immortal: it’s like he’s elf-struck! After all, if he comes, you’ll show him the door, won’t you?”  
Maedhros was very uneasy. The thought that because of this girl he will have to fight with a rogue Easterling and an unknown number of his cronies, was not very pleasant. However, he said:  
"Of course, Lalaith, you're safe here."  
Lalaith looked at him attentively and earnestly.

***

Finduilas enthusiastically examined the glass vase that Amrod gave her. Maedhros sat down on Celegorm's bed; he asked in a low voice:  
"Maitimo, I understand that I'm becoming importunate and obsessive with my suspicions, but this woman is very weird. Perhaps you can make her leave?”  
"I do not know," the elder brother replied. “I just do not know. Aracáno is in such a condition that ... Without her I do not even know how to make him eat. I really hope that he will get better”.  
"But she's one of his servants... of those who came to Himring with the garrison from Angband," Celegorm said. "You told me yourself that you saw her with Maeglin. Look…”  
"Tyelko." Maedhros squeezed his hand. "I understand all," he said even more quietly. "You think Sauron would have allowed Himring to be commanded by an idiot like Salgant? Of course, when our battle with Morgoth ended, Himring was no longer a key border fortress, but still it occupies an important strategic position. I am sure that the woman, who, as I was told, was Salgant’s lover, was actually appointed there by Sauron. This woman is her friend. Most likely, she was also sent here to find out how we would react to the presence of Aracáno and what we would say and do”.  
“Does it even matter?” Celegorm asked bitterly.  
"It does," replied Maedhros. "Aracáno is the youngest son of Fingolfin’s. After Fingon, Turgon inherited the throne. Fingon’s son Gil-Galad was only fourteen or fifteen at the time, but honestly, I just do not know if Turgon intended to pass him the crown when he grew up, or was it supposed that if one brother died, the crown should go to another brother? Gil-Galad came of age – I mean, he was fifty - two or three years before the fall of Gondolin. Were there any talks about Turgon giving up the Noldor Crown in favor of his nephew? Now only Gil-Galad knows that. If the crown should pass from one brother to another, then it means that Aracáno is our king. Now Sauron could not just get him out of his pocket and bring him to Havens. But this can be done if he uses us: we can confirm his identity (I, for one, can do it - I'm sure it's him); Although Sauron says that no one needs us anymore, I am sure that many - many Elves, not only the Noldor, and Men - will pay attention to my words. And Aracáno follows this woman's orders ... I really do not know what to do with all this”.  
"Just kill them both," Celegorm said firmly. "In any case – kill him. Why are you looking at me like that? He would not even understand he’s dying. If you take off his head, it will be quick and almost painless, and after that, even Sauron will not be able to resurrect him. I would have done it myself if I had not been bedridden”.  
“Yes, you would have done a lot”, Maedhros said, “if only ... – Brother, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I did not mean to”.  
"I know," Celegorm replied. "And forgive me. I just can not look at this any more. In fact, if I could walk, I really would ... No, I’d just ask you to leave. To leave with me. Now. Even without waiting for the return of Macalaurë. I know that you will not do this”.  
Celegorm turned to the wall and no longer participated in their celebration.  
Findulis decided not to go upstairs. She was not very pleased to sleep in the same room with Lalaith (Lalaith’s conversations in the absence of men were disagreeable for the Elf-maid, to put it mildly, but she would not have dared even to repeat them to her uncles). In addition, she drank some wine and was afraid that on the stairs she might feel dizzy. The girl lied on the couch in the large hallway next to the staircase; she carefully put her glass vase on a shelf just above the couch and instantly fell asleep.

When she woke up, she realized that in a few seconds she would die a second time. A strong man's hand squeezed her throat, the other stopped her mouth. His knee pressed her legs to the bed with all his weight, almost dislocating the joints. Moreover, she realized that now he does not even try to strangle her - he just tries the murder on, and the next moment he will crush her throat or will snap her neck, breaking the vertebrae. Finduilas desperately pulled her right hand from under her back (the attacker grabbed and turned her over, so that her right hand was blocked). There was no other way: she grabbed Amrod's gift, first hit the killer on the head, then, feeling that it did not make him stop, she managed to break the vase against the wall.

Maedhros stopped reading, grabbed a dagger in his left hand and picked up his glass lantern with a hook on his crippled right hand. He felt as if the sound of broken glass hit him in the face, blinded him - just as it happened when Finwë died.  
He ran to the front door - and nearly dropped the lantern. His hand trembled, the lantern swayed, pink and red spots from the colored glass in the lantern flew around the walls, the hot glass burned his cheek.  
The lantern colored scarlet the silvery hair of Celegorm, which was killing Finduilas.  
“No! No!” Maedhros groaned desperately. He set the lantern and rushed to Celegorm. “What is that?! What are you doing?”  
Celegorm removed his hand from her lips, continuing to squeeze the girl’s throat and turned to Maedhros. His face was almost transparent, exhausted, as if he had not eaten for weeks, his eyes widened unnaturally; they even seemed to shine from within. Maedhros dropped his dagger, ran up to his brother, trying to drag him away from the girl, grabbed him by the shoulder; he still believed that the crippled brother managed to crawl out of his room to kill the one he hated.  
However, Celegorm rushed ahead to meet him; Maedhros, stunned, froze in shock and bewilderment, when he realized that his brother actually could stand. The younger brother hurried at him, and Maedhros saw a table knife in his hand, a knife, that, as he remembered, remained on the table in Celegorm’s room after the end of the feast. Celegorm knocked him down to the floor and put a knife to his throat. Maedhros thought that his brother's body was unnaturally hot, like an animal's; it seemed that all his bones were shaking. He saw in Celegorm’s large gray eyes an unnatural gleam – his irises were shining, improbably green and iridescent.  
Feeling the heat from the touch of his brother's hand, which grabbed his neck and tried to strike him with the knife in his other hand, Maedhros at the same time felt the unbearable cold surrounding them, a strange, excruciating cold that had sometimes haunted Celegorm's room. Maedhros always had attributed this to the fact that the room was poorly heated, that Celegorm often opened the window because he could not go out when he wants to - but ... why, why did not he guess?!  
"Die!" Celegorm shouted. "Die!"  
“What for?” asked Maedhros; he wanted to cry, but there was no tears. –“Why? What happened to you? What did I do to you?!”  
"It was an order, do you understand?" Celegorm shouted. "I'm ordered! Melkor, my lord, told me to! I obey him. Do not you dare to interfere – or die!”  
“Do whatever you want!” Maedhros moaned desperately. “Please do whatever you want, I do not care any more!”  
He really believed that it was better to die now quickly in the hands of his brother than to suffer further.  
"This is the end. Let Tyelco kill us all ... let him ... "  
Maedhros closed his eyes.  
Amrod, half-dressed, rushed to Finduilas, grabbed her and desperately squeezed her in his arms. She panted and let out a low, desperate, visceral moan; Maedhros realized she was still alive.  
"Go away ..." said Maedhros, turning to Amrod. Amrod grabbed Finduilas and ran out the front door, as if a fire had started. Maedhros searched for his dagger, but it apparently fell and was too far. He would not have been able to force himself to harm Celegorm.  
Celegorm sprang to his feet; it was clear that he did not know whether he should run after Amrod and Finduilas.  
At last, he decided to deal with the eldest brother first.  
"How stupid you are, Nelyo", Celegorm said, laughing. His hand was hot as a sun-warmed tree. He released his brother and hovered over him, playing with a knife. "Why do you resist? Melkor is the Lord of Arda. He gave me his mercy. He gave me back my health and strength”.  
"And?.." asked Maedhros. At last, he was weeping: tears choked him. He thought that, probably, Celegorm was in complete and frantic misery because of his illness - but how could he believe that Celegorm is able to do that?!  
Now a strange whiteness of his face, his flowing, almost white locks (during illness Celegorm stopped dying them gold - and now it was the same moonlight silver as their grandmother Míriel’s), and even his hideously glowing eyes - all made his brother unbearably handsome.  
Celegorm bent over him again, smiling; Maedhros thought that perhaps it was not so terrible to die in his hands; if Finwë was indeed killed by Melkor, then maybe Finwë was not too afraid to die, too because then Melkor was also beautiful...

\- Álatyë urtha, heca ! (do not go crazy, stop it!)  
Maedhros, rising, saw that Celegorm had dropped the knife, shocked with surprise, and Argon, wringing out his hands, knocked him on the couch where Finduilas had just slept.  
"Nelyo, do not stand like this, take off your belt, and give it to me!" Argon shouted.  
Maedhros handed him the belt, and Argon twisted Celegorm’s hands behind his back. He became limp; Maedhros saw that his forehead and hands were wet with sweat.  
«What happened?» asked Maedhros. It was a very inappropriate question.  
"You see, he's lost his mind," Argon said. "You have not seen it before, haven’t you? When we were marching through the Ice, at least three persons went mad. The boy, with whom I was sitting on the same bench in school, attacked my father with a knife. He also had to be tied up, and then he escaped and ran away. We saw no more of him”.  
Maedhros looked around. Lalaith was nowhere to be seen.  
"Did anyone tell you to come here, in this room?" He asked Argon. "Did someone call you?"  
He looked at his cousin in bewilderment.  
"No one called me... Just ... the door was opened, there was light ... then I saw that he was trying to kill you... I wanted so much to save you ... You ..." Argon looked down, at his hands. "You don’t need me here, do you? I feel ... I feel that everything is very bad”.  
Maedhros recalled that the door to the room where they had placed Argon did indeed open by itself because of the draft, as soon as the door to Celegorm's room was opened.  
“Did you understand what was happening around you? Where were you?” asked Maedhros, not taking his eyes off Celegorm.  
"Yes, I did" Argon answered, "but everything was somehow... blurred, as if I had heard everything from under the water. I remember this sound when I realized that my head... my skull was breaking ... Then I again was on the ice, but the ice was somehow strange. I open my eyes and there were some ... redheaded people, like you, their faces were just like ours, but there was hair on the faces, and they pointed at me, they all looked at me and I could not move a finger. I somehow realized that these were the younger children of Iluvatar, and I was so surprised - it turned out they existed, after all, so Uncle Feanor did not lie to us – oh, I am sorry, Nelyo, forgive me. I was in – it was a prison, an odd prison of glass; I realized that I was in the hands of the Enemy and I could not get out ... You got me out of there, did you?”  
"Yes," answered Maedhros.  
"Thank you," said Argon. “I was very scared”. He stood up and looked attentively at Celegorm. "Look, Nelyo, excuse me, but we must lock him somewhere. Maybe tomorrow he will come to himself. Do you have such a room in the house?” He looked into his own room. "The window is very low here and the door can not hold".  
In the hallway appeared the sleepy Celebrimbor.  
"Ah," he said, "well, I told you that everything would be fine with Uncle Aracáno. How are you, Uncle Aracáno?”  
"Uncle Arakano is indeed fine," Argon answered, "but Uncle Turkafinwë, I am sorry again for being so blunt, went crazy and we must lock him somewhere. Oh”, Argon said softly, addressing Maedhros, "I hope this is not his son? I should not have said that”...  
"This is the son of Atarince," replied Maedhros. Argon shook his head in disbelief. "Tyelpe, maybe you really... You see, he can actually walk, but he is not in sound mind, he attacked Finduilas and me, he tried to kill us... We can not let him stay in the bedroom for the night."  
"Treasure-room in the basement," said Celebrimbor. “There's an oak door and a barred window. Tomorrow we'll figure something out. Uncle Nelyafinwë, take the key. Come on”. He brought the tied Celegorm to the squeaky staircase that led to the basement.  
"Tyelperinquar ..." Celegorm said suddenly. "Believe me... I would never do anything wrong to you ... To you - never."  
"Of course, of course," Celebrimbor said soothingly. "You did not want anything bad, you just need to have some rest."  
He closed the door of the treasury and locked it.  
Argon was sitting on the bed, covering his face with his hands.  
"Maitimo," he said in a low voice, "Maitimo, everything is really really bad. I know. What happened to your arm? And”... He paused when Maedhros embraced and hugged him desperately. Argon also hugged his cousin with trembling hands.  
"Atarincë is no more," said Maedhros. "Telvo is dead, too, for a long time. You see for yourself what happened with Tyelko. Makalaurë must come back in a few days. Caranthir - Moryo - left us, I do not know when he may be back. You probably saw Pityo, he's here”.  
"Ah ..." Argon spoke. “And my own… Does my family... somebody...”  
"You are the last," Maedhros forced himself to say. "There's no one else left".  
Argon burst into tears, leaning on his shoulder. Amrod and Finduilas, who returned to the house (Celebrimbor went after them), looked in silence, unable to say anything.  
"There is Finno’s son," Amrod said at last, "but he is very far from here. If you want, we”...  
"What I am to him," Argon answered, gasping, trying to hold his tears, "He does not even know me." Maytimo ... you cannot turn me out ... right away, right?  
"Well, you don’t lose your mind again, please" said Maedhros. "Of course not."

_***_

Of course, tomorrow they also did not know what to do with Celegorm.  
"I will leave," said Finduilas, "maybe he'll come round".  
"Do not be stupid," replied Maedhros. “He is not just crazy. He is possessed by Morgoth. He serves him. You saw it, and me, and Amrod. Oh, I'm sorry, Aracáno, we're speaking Sindarin again...  
Lalaith entered the room, yawning.  
\- Oh, what did you have here last night ... Tyelpe told me ... The blond cutie said - "I do not get up", eh? To attack your own brother with a knife – that’s your "does not get up"! I think all of you are either crippled or lying!”  
She discontentedly took her big plate, put on it more than half of the little pies left from yesterday, took a large sweet roll, which Amrod made yesterday for Finduilas, cut off a half and began to spread butter on it.  
“So, you are in the right mind again, you frostbitten wretch?” she asked a confused Argon. “It can make anyone queer in the head”… 

There was a loud knock at the gate. Finduilas sprang to her feet.  
Maedhros grabbed his sword.  
With a sword in his hands, he went out into the yard, hearing behind the fence the noise from the presence of many people and horses.  
Maedhros went to the gate and looked out. 

Outside he saw a troop of about hundred people: the horsemen wore the colors of Melkor. Maeglin, luxuriously dressed in black and gold clothes, commanded them. A huge banner fluttered over his head: it was held by a gloomy Noldo from the House of Mole. Most of the warriors were Men, but among them were some Elves and a dozen of Orcs.  
"Maedhros, I know you can hear me," Maeglin said. "I came to take what belongs to us. Give us your brother Celegorm, and no one will be hurt. You know that Celegorm is a servant of my Master. Celegorm’s place is in Angband, near his Master. I will be waiting for an hour, and if Celegorm does not come out, you’ll regret it. Especially since you... attempted to steal from me”.  
Maedhros closed the gate. He was ashamed of himself, but he experienced some relief from the fact that Maeglin did not demand to return Argon to him.  
He did not know what to do. The resistance indeed was almost meaningless: the forces were unequal. But to give Celegorm up to the servants of Morgoth? ..  
Returning to the house, he briefly repeated to his relatives the words of Maeglin.  
"But we can not ..." he began.  
"Maitimo, you’d better ask him," said Amrod. “Ask him. If he wants, let him go to his Master. We cannot keep him locked up forever. Or we will have to kill him, - or he will kill us”.  
Maedhros looked at Amrod, remembering how yesterday Celegorm advised to behead him.  
He took the key and went down, to the basement.  
"Tyelko ..." he began. “There’s...”  
"I know," Celegorm replied drearily. “It’s Maeglin. He had to come for me in such a case”.  
"I wanted to know ... if you do not want to go with him, you should not. It’s…”  
"My place is near my Master”, Celegorm said, repeating Maeglin's words. "Will you allow me to pack my things? I will not harm anyone anymore. Believe me. Well, it did not work out, that’s it, I will not make another attempt. Better let me go”.  
“Will you be punished for it? Will he punish you because it did not work out?” asked Maedhros anxiously.  
Celegorm laughed.  
"Actually, my mission was to kill a priest among the Easterlings. He doubted the divinity of Melkor and hanged boys of thirteen or fourteen years as victims to Oromë," he said. “I do not think that Oromë would be pleased. I did this when, as you all believed, I was resting in the hunting lodge. And Finduilas ... well, I’ve just used the opportunity. Let me pack my luggage”.  
Maedhros unlocked the door, and along with Celegorm they climbed the stairs. When they heard that they were going upstairs together, they all left the room and went up, to the first floor; Amrod stood on the bottom step, ready to defend himself and Finduilas.  
Celegorm went into his room, looked around; he opened his trunk, rummaged in there, took a dagger, which he usually wore on his belt, then threw it back. He took three books out of the chest and choose two - treatises on plants and on the metalwork; the third, a book about hunting, he flipped through and threw it on the table. Finally, he took a warm cloak, which was given to him by Maglor, his gloves, put on boots and left the house. He flung open the gate and Maeglin recoiled. Near Celegorm he immediately began to look small and miserable, despite his golden fur-lined fur coat and a diadem that crowned his dense shining black hair.  
Amrod looked out the front door, then went into Celegorm's room; he bent over the open trunk and said:  
"He did not even take anything with him... maybe we shall give him at least his dagger and chain mail..."  
Maedhros looked out of the the window. Celegorm was tersely ordering Maeglin something -probably to give him a better horse.  
"Maitimo ..." said Amrod. – “Maitimo…”  
His voice made Maedhros freeze. Maedhros did not hear in Amrod’s voice such blank horror since the day his twin brother drowned in a burning ship hours after their arrival in Middle-earth.  
“What?” Maedhros did not want to turn around.  
“Look. Just have a look. Please”.  
Maedhros turned and came to him. The younger brother held out to him a dagger, pulling it out of the precious scabbard, adorned with rubies and grenades. The silver blade of the dagger looked strange against the background of luxurious oily curls of gold on the scabbard and the heavy lozenge-shaped garnets on its handle.  
The thin silver blade was adorned with a pattern of wavy leaves and heavy apples; although they were just notches on the shiny metal, they seemed bright, green and translucent, radiant in the soft sunlight.  
"It's not a dagger," said Maedhros.  
"You recognize it, don’t you?" said Amrod. "It's not a dagger. This is a fruit knife. The fruit knife from Formenos. The knife that our grandfather used at breakfast. It's our brother who killed Finwë”. 

  



	22. The Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breaking news: A son of Fëanor admits killing Finwë!

"That’s why", said Maedhros. “That’s why. It means that he became a servant of Morgoth not because of his illness, but because he killed Finwë ... Do you really think so?”  
For Maedhros, it would be easier to accept this: he still often recalled how he kicked a helpless Celegorm lying on the hut’s floor.  
"Look ... look, Maitimo." Amrod kneeled beside the trunk. "How could we not to have noticed this before?!... Maitimo, look at his chain mail." He took the armour from the chest. “You see, here under his coat of arms there are traces of another one, a removed emblem. Moreover, these additional gold rings on the hem - Tyelko had to put them on, because originally the chain mail was shorter. This is Finwë's armour. Do you remember what Penlod said? Our grandfather was dressed in a long shirt, the one in which he normally ate his breakfast, and in a long chain mail. Our brother killed him with this knife at breakfast and put his chain mail on our grandfather to cover up his tracks – to make everyone believe Finwë died fighting. Do you understand?”  
"But ..." answered Maedhros, "but – but still ..."  
Maedhros ran out of the house, ran out of the gate - although it was still cold, and he was wearing his shirt and trousers. He held Celegorm's knife in his hands, standing in front of Maeglin's people.  
"Tyelko," he said, "Tyelko ... tell me, tell me please ... why?”  
Argon approached Maedhros and put a coat on his shoulders; Maedhros was grateful for the support.  
Celegorm looked at his brother and said:  
"You see, Maitimo ..." He smiled, and that smile was timid and shy; such a smile his older brother saw on his face only in his childhood and early youth. – “You see ... You can ... You can love someone - just love and nothing else. You do not long for them, you do not pine for them, you just love and wish them best. Wish for their happiness. Wish that there were no evil in the life of your loved one. It’s like this. Do not think of me anymore, Maitimo. Just pretend that I have never existed at all”.  
Maitimo went to the gate; he saw how Celegorm, surrounded by strangers in black, once again turned around, looked at him; Then he posed himself on the horse, which they brought to him, and did not look back anymore.  
Maedhros wanted to scream; it seemed to him that his own body was torn apart by despair and misery – he felt totally clueless. He endured many evils, and he had yet to endure the terrible, the incredible and the absolutely impossible, but there was nothing more terrible in his life that the moment when Celegorm was taken away from him.  
Maeglin with an unceremonious and somehow possessive gesture patted Celegorm's horse, apparently not daring to touch the man himself.  
"Well," he said, "you can behave in a decent way, Uncle Maedhros. In a honest way. And in Angband, Uncle Celegorm will be fine”.  
“What's so fine about being in Angband?” Said Argon.  
Maedhros heartily wished that Argon was silent - he hoped Argon still did not find out who was Maeglin, and that he would not understand this for a long time.  
"His place is with us," said Maeglin. “After all, he's got there a wife and a child”.  
Maedhros was stunned not by the meaning of Maeglin’s words but by the sugary and pathetic tone in which he said this.  
“Let's go!” - Maeglin exclaimed. Celegorm went alongside him. Maitimo closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the gatepost, trying not to see how Celegorm was being led away, how the spring sun shone on his silvery hair.  
Lalaith leaned out of the attic window and yelled:  
\- Give my love to your wife!  


***

Maeglin dumped the head of the Easterling priest at the foot of the throne of Melkor; the priest had a long beard and a long red braid. Maeglin wondered how Celegorm managed to behead him so neatly. This arrangement suited both: Celegorm did not want to see Melkor once again, and Maeglin liked to boast, although he indeed took a part in Celegorm's activities, giving him orders.  
"I was told that Celegorm came with you," Melkor said. “Why?”  
"Ah," Maeglin said casually. "His brothers threw him out."  
“Why?” Melkor asked.  
"Yes, he tried to kill the girl with whom his younger brother is in love, and almost killed his older brother," Maeglin answered, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, and they kicked him out."  
"Did anyone order him to kill the girl? “ Melkor stared at Maeglin.  
"Well, he asked me once who was this Elven girl and if she was our spy, and how he was to behave with her," Maeglin explained willingly. “I told him that she was not ours, that nobody sent her to them, and that he may do to her whatever he wants. Celegorm, it seems, was jealous of his brother or something – the brothers are all in love with each other”.  
"So now they know that Celegorm works for me." Melkor tapped on the throne’s handle with his overlong fingernails. "It’s too early ... Although now, when there is neither Gondolin nor Nargothrond, it does not really matter. Maeglin, take him to your quarters and show him around. Soon I’ll have a new assignment for him”.

***

"And it turned out that the blond one is married" Lalaith whimpered at breakfast. – “How about that! Probably your second brother is also married and went to his wife”.  
"Look, Lalaith, Maglor is not married, I would have known," Maedhros said, realizing that against the backdrop of what had happened to Celegorm, it did not look very convincing. "Maglor would bring his wife to us..."  
“What would you know? He would bring to you no one; a decent woman would not live with you, only such a desperate ladette, a footloose wench as I am", Lalaith sniffed. “Your Maglor is probably sitting right now in a parlour with his wife and laughing at you. All of you, Elves, are actually married; you just do not say it”.  
"Lalaith, he went to the ruins of Gondolin with his friend Nariëndil to find something out" Maedhros himself did not understand why he was telling all this to the annoying creature.  
"Well then, in this case he very probably wallows somewhere with his friend in mud under the bushes by the road" Lalaith said. "All of you, Elves, are perverts."  
"Lalaith, you must make up your mind”, Finduilas smiled for the first time since the horrible night. “Either all Elves are perverts or all Elves are married”.  
"You are all married perverts," Lalaith replied, looking at Maedhros meaningfully, and slammed the door.  
Maedhros involuntarily blushed. He thought that he should still ask her to leave - especially now, after Argon came to himself.  
He was already going to ask Finduilas to talk civilly with Lalaith, like a girl to a girl (nothing could be more unpleasant for Finduilas at the moment), but then he heard footsteps, and Maglor and Nariëndil came into the house.  
"Here," said Maglor, "I'm home! I'm so happy. But first I...”  
Nariendil smiled joyfully at Maedhros and Amrod, took off a fowling-bag from which the feathers and paws of a grouse that he shot down on his way, were sticking out. Then, perceiving how gloomy everyone was, he hung his cloak and bow on the hook at the entrance (he was more than a head taller than Maglor) and was ready to apologize and get out.  
Maglor opened the door to Celegorm’s room and saw that it was empty. There was no bed there; the opened chest standing in the middle of the room and it was almost empty (yesterday Celebrimbor sorted out the things and got the room cleaned). Maglor turned around. Maedhros noticed that Maglor was holding a package with something he evidently intended to please his sick brother.  
"Where ..." asked Maglor.  
Maedhros realized that they did not have time to agree what exactly and how they should tell Maglor, - they did not talk about it at all. "He ... he ... where is he? He is feeling better, is he not? He could not…”  
"I am so sorry", said Maedhros. "He's no longer with us." He came over to Maglor, who collapsed to his knees on the floor, and embraced him. "Our brother ..."  
“How? But how?..” Maglor finally uttered. "He was much worse before... then, in the autumn, after the fall of Gondolin, it seemed to me that he was about to die... But now ... why now?.. I could not even say goodbye...”  
"We were able to say goodbye to him," said Amrod, as he approached Maglor, "but you had better not be present at this farewell."  
Maedhros looked at the younger one meaningfully, and he was silent.  
“They say you all went somewhere ... did it happen while you were gone?” Asked Maglor.  
"No," answered Maedhros. “A few days after”.  
Maglor dropped his head to his knees, crouching in a heap.  
Maedhros felt that he still had to say something to him, to explain - but he had not yet discussed Finwë's death with Maglor. He did not say to him anything about the attempt to find out about Turgon's fate and the escape of Turgon’s younger brother Argon: after all, when Finduilas remembered that she had seen Turgon in captivity, Maglor had already left.  
"You see, Kano," he said to Maglor, "things are more complicated than you think. I should have told you before.  
“About what?” Maglor asked.  
"I mean... Pityo and I did not just go to Gondolin for nothing. After the fall of the city, there were some documents, and Celebrimbor brought us something as well. I did not it them to you yet”.  
"The documents?" Maglor repeated, rising up. "I see that something is wrong. Nelyo, please. What's happening?”  
"There is an evidence that Morgoth did not kill Finwë; of course, he stole the Silmarills, but our grandfather, most likely, was killed by an Elf. Finwë did not fall in a duel with Morgoth - he was killed with a knife. We found this knife in the chest of Tyelkormo, and moreover, there was grandfather's armour". Maedhros sighed. “Perhaps, he – “  
Maedhros expected anything - tears, anger, rebellion, mistrust; he shrank, preparing for any words of Maglor.  
But not for the ones he really said.

“No! It wasn’t him! It was me! I'm to blame for everything!” Shouted Maglor. "I did it! It's all because of me, you know? Everything, every single horror, and every single death here and back home – it’s all because of me!”  
"Kano ..." Maedhros said under the breath.  
“You did, did you?” Asked Amrod. “What did you do, Kano? What was it?”  
"I was washing blood off this knife, Pityo," said Maglor. "I put this armour on him, I brought him to the treasury, I put him there ... I'm the slayer. It's me”.  
Maitimo leaned against the wall. It was too much. If Celegorm were still here in this room, Maedhros might believe that Maglor defended him - but no, Celegorm was not there and they let Maglor believe that Celegorm was already dead.  
Nariëndil, pale, frightened, did not take his eyes off Maglor; on his face there was no longer a trace of youthful freshness and merriment.  
"I ... I demand a punishment. An execution. I want to be executed for this murder. I do not want to live anymore, "Maglor said, addressing Maedhros, but without looking at him.  
"I’d never hurt you, Kano," replied Maedhros. "I cannot lay my hand on my brother, even if you are to blame. I” ... "  
He remembered how he mentally promised Celegorm not to leave him; how Celegorm left them, and said:  
"I can forgive you, Kano. Let anyone say anything, but I'll forgive you. Just do not leave us”.  
"No ..." said Maglor. "I am not entitled to life. After all, Nelyo, it's not up to you. We will go to Gil-Galad, let him condemn me, since he has the right to raise the Staff of Doom, let him sentence me to death. After all those years, there must be justice”.  
“No!” exclaimed Nariëndil. "No ... Kano ... Macalaurë – you must not! You cannot ruin yourself like that! I know that you could not kill anyone! Stop it!”  
He grabbed Maglor by the shoulders; he obviously wanted to grab Maglor by the collar, lift him into the air and shake him.  
"I'm sorry," said Maglor. “I just can not live like that anymore. I did it. I want it to end. Leave me, please. Let it be”.  
“No!” Said Nariëndil. “I will not leave you. Never!”  
With these words, he took off his cloak, threw the fowling bag with the game on the floor and ran out. He jumped on his horse and drove off. He did not even stop to open the gate - he threw it open with a kick, and rode away.  
Only then did Maglor realize that his herald ran away; he got up, ran out and shouted:  
“Nariëndil! Come back! Do not do it, please! I'm not letting you!”  
Maitimo dragged him back into the house.  
"Calm down, Kano," he said unhappily, "it's too late to talk about this now ..."  
"You do not understand," said Maglor. "You do not understand ... I tried so hard ..." He gave the brothers a desperate look. "Telwo would understand ..."  
"Stop it!" - exclaimed Amrod and left, slamming the door of his room.  
"All right," said Maglor. "Tomorrow morning, I'll depart. If you want, you may go with me. Now leave me alone, brother, please”.  
Maedhros left the room, leaving his brother sitting on the floor in Celegorm's room. He hoped that tomorrow morning, Maglor would come to his senses; but just in case he decided to stay in the hall, on the same couch where Finduilas slept that terrible night.

*** 

Amrod saw that the elder brother was sitting in the dark; he did not bring light into the room and sat next to him.  
"Listen, Pityo," said Maedhros. "I do not know what to think. Maybe we really made a mistake about Tyelko. I understand - a knife, the chain mail, but... Well, Tyelcormo had Finwë's armour. But this does not mean that he put it on his Finwë’s body”.  
"Yes," sighed Amrod. “Yes, I know. Tyelkormo was always the last finishing training. His armor was always kept at the very entrance. If I went into the armory and grabbed the first mail that I found, it would just be his”.  
“And most importantly – what about the casket? If Celegorm killed our grandfather with this knife, then why would he break his head with a casket?” Asked Maedhros.  
"To feign Morgoth’s attack - in the hope that because of the crushed head no one will notice the wounds on his neck. The wound was very small. Did you even notice it?”  
"No," answered Maedhros.  
"I saw it, but I did not care whether it was there, if his entire skull was shattered," Amrod said grimly.  
"It's terrible, if it was indeed the case", said Maitimo. "To abuse and mutilate a dead body – to use a dead for one’s selfish purposes... Perhaps, it's worse than murder".  
The next morning, Maitimo saw that Maglor was actually gathering his belongings, preparing to leave; but he did it absentmindedly, now and then stopping and looking to nowhere.  
"Kano," asked Maedhros, "did you manage to get to the ruins of Gondolin?"  
"Yes," said Maglor. “In general, I do not understand why I went there. It's terrible. The stone, closing the tomb of Uncle Nolo has been moved aside, but the tomb itself is locked. Strangely enough, we found a cave where Celebrimbor was hiding and, apparently, someone indeed lived there for years. So, most likely, he was telling the truth”.  
Maglor fumbled in his travel bag.  
"I’ve got this as a memory, I do not know why. It was hanging near the first gates of the city in some weird place”.  
Maglor took out a small round crystal lamp-lantern, covered with a gold mesh with a pattern of shells and sea stars.  
"It's Elemmakil's lantern," said Maedhros. "He must have been the first one to die... I hope so".  
“Whose lantern?” asked Maglor, perplexed.  
"Elemmakil’s: he was a commander of the Gondolin’s guard," replied Maedhros: he was puzzled as well. "You must remember him."  
"No," said Maglor, "I do not remember the name at all, - who was he again?".  
Then Argon peered into the room; he looked at Maedhros, then at Maglor.  
"Kano, have you already seen Aracáno? “ Maedhros turned to his brother. “Me and Pityo and Finduilas visited Himring, and ... it turned out that Aracáno had been in captivity all this time”.  
Argon shook his cousin’s hand; Maglor looked at him intently, incredulously.  
"You do not look like a Quendi who spent several centuries in Angband," said Maglor. “Maitimo was completely different after just a few years in prison”.  
"I've been asleep all this time ... I was unconscious," Argon answered quietly.  
"Why would they need an unconscious heir of Finwë, I wonder?”, said Maglor, looking at Argon. “Although, of course, yes, they could use you to blackmail Uncle Nolo, Turucáno or Finno. Maybe, they did it, it’s just we do not know about this”.  
Argon calmed down, but Maedhros did not like the last words of Maglor at all.  
“What do you mean?”  
"I mean to say that because of his insane love for you, Aracáno, your older brother Finno could have made a small secret deal with the Enemy," said Maglor.  
Since Argon knew only that all his family had died, but did not know how it happened and in general he very poorly imagined the history of the Noldor in Middle-earth (after all, he had slept for all these five centuries), the words of Maglor offended and upset him, but he was not outraged.  
Maedhros, on the other hand, turned pale with anger, so that freckles, which were usually invisible, appeared bright on his white skin. He tried to come with at least some words in reply to Maglor, but he could not. What could he say? Maedhros could only kill on the spot anyone who would say such a thing, except Maglor.  
"We did not make any deals with Morgoth, although you, Nelyo, were in captivity," Maglor continued, "we have nothing to be ashamed of, we are not connected with Morgoth in any way."  
"Screw me dead!” Lalaith went down to the hall and got into conversation. "Oh, I see, it’s so obvious: after Celegorm declared that Melkor was his master and solemnly left for Angband under Melkor’s black banners, we all knew the sons of Fëanor and Melkor can not be linked in any way. Soon it will turn out that Mairon and Melkor are not connected in any way, - Mairon just was passing by and joined the party!”.  
Maglor dropped the bag he was holding in his hands, picked it up, and dropped his scarf, than a box containing a set of travel accessories, which he kept under his elbow. Spoons, knives and scissors scattered on the floor.  
“What are you talking about?” He asked Lalaith. "What banners? Celegorm is dead ... Who are you and what are you doing here?”  
"I don’t know what I am doing here, indeed”, Lalaith shrugged. "Your “I-do-not-get-up” blond brother, jumped up in the middle of the night, tried to murder my girlfriend Finduilas, then attacked the armless one aiming with a knife in his eye. At the same time, he declared that everything was fine with him and that Melkor had healed him. Well, unsurprisingly he had to move out of here. They say he also killed his grandfather”.  
"Why would he...?" Maglor said hoarsely. “I do not understand”.  
"Well, apparently, because otherwise one would never get the inheritance: an Elvish grandad most probably would not die by himself" Lalaith explained, - although Maglor, of course, asked about something else. "They also say that your grandmother supposedly died for no reason at all. By the way, we should investigate this as well…”.  
"Did he really ... really go to Angband? Did he really turn to him?” Asked Maglor, addressing both his brothers. "You kicked him out? You threw out our brother Tyelkormo because of this damned piece of trash, which calls herself Finduilas?  
"You know what ..." Amrod began.  
Argon gathered his strength, realizing that neither Maedhros nor Amrod are able to talk with Maglor at this point.  
"Listen, Kano," said Argon, addressing Maglor. "It's not about the girl and not about how he tried to kill her. Consider this. As far as I understand, Tyelko was lying in bed for several years and told you that he is not able to walk and he cannot get up. Nevertheless, everyone here saw very well - both Nelyo and Pityo - how he walked, took a knife, swung a knife at Nelyo and slashed my hand while I was tying him”, - Argon pointed to his hand, still bandaged. "How can you explain this?"  
Maglor sank to a chair, exhausted.  
"What did you do to him?" He asked almost silently. "Where is he?"  
"A troop of Quendi came after him from Angband, headed by a Melkor's servant and they took him with them", Argon explained. "I saw that person in Angband before… I think so".  
"Maeglin," Amrod explained softly.  
Maglor realized that his brothers did not dare to tell Argon the story of his sister Aredhel.  
"Oh" exclaimed Maglor, "then, Aracáno, you implied that we are all connected with the Enemy, are we not?"  
"I did not say that, Kano," said Argon, "this woman was hinting at this. I do not blame anyone for anything”.  
"You do not blame anyone! You came from a hostile place, you have stayed with the Enemy for five hundred years and you do not blame us for anything! Who knows what price your father and brothers paid for your so called slumber?” Shouted Maglor. “You dare to blame Tyelko ... he was ill! He was so ill, so tormented – there was nobody to heal him ... yes, it's not Valinor, there are no kind Maiar and Valar, no one would rush to heal our wounds, we all have been suffering for weeks, Tyelko - for years... He was here lying in my arms, dying in pain, while your nephew was on his killing and raping spray!”  
"Who?" Argon asked, confused. "Gil-Galad?"  
He already knew the name of Fingon's son.  
"No, it's the son of your sister, who came here for Tyelko!" Maglor could not stop.  
"She can not... she could not ..." Argon turned to Maedhros, but of course he could not refute Maglor's words, because it was true.  
"His name is Maeglin – it was he who came for Tyelko, wasn’t he?" Asked Maglor. – “It was he! Like tree, like fruit! Fingolfin’s grandson, the son of Aredhel became a traitor: he is to blame for the slaughter of thousands of Noldor and Sindar, including your own brother Turgon!”  
"No... no..."  
Argon fainted and collapsed to the floor.  
Right now, Maedhros was indeed ready to kill Maglor.  
“I'm fed with it!” He shouted, rushing at his brother. “Stop it now!”  
"How could you let Celegorm go?" Responded Maglor. "How could you ... He's not guilty... It was not his fault ..."

“Yes, it's not his fault. I'm to blame”.

In the doorway, wrapped in a long black cloak with a hood, stood Caranthir.  
Next to him they saw a gloomy Nariëndil, drenched by the spring rain.  
"Macalaurë, that's enough. We must not lie anymore. I came here to tell”…  
"I told you not to come!" Shouted Maglor. “To never come back! ... No... all in vain. I did not want it – all was in vain ... I want to die!”  
Maglor grabbed a small knife from his travelling set and, to Maedhros’s horror, tried to stick it into his own neck. Maedhros run at him, twisted his arm and threw him on the floor; Maglor cried, jerked and slashed with the knife the older brother’s hand.  
"Damn you!" shouted Maedhros.  
"Hey, quiet," Lalaith grabbed Maedhros by the shoulders. "Hush, Nelyafinwë. An Elf more, an Elf less...”

Maedhros thought that he had lost his mind completely.  
Because now he was no longer held by soft girlish hands, but by the already familiar to him, steel, long, fleshless fingers of Sauron.


	23. The First Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sauron enjoys playing a girl - and a detective :)

"Come on," Gorthaur, still in his “Lalaith” dress, sat down on the sofa. This time the dress was salad green, with a long lace collar: however, now the lace hem of the dress was just below his knees. "Why are you so surprised, after all?”  
"So it was you all the time, Mairon?" Finduilas asked indignantly.  
“You ought to be ashamed!” exclaimed Maedhros.  
“Why should I be ashamed?” Sauron shrugged. “First, one has to try everything, and secondly, it's an attractive disguise. Few people take Edain women seriously - especially their own menfolk. Imagine that: a harsh senior officer comes out of the soldiers’ barracks, talks to no one, then comes to bed with a girl and says: "By the way, to get to the fortress, bypassing the gate, you only need to move the stone under the bridge, to go through the underground passage, and then knock on the black stone four times - well, you would not understand anyway, you stupid fool". Moreover, you just cannot imagine how repulsive the men may become in the presence of women. It sometimes applies to Elves, too. It becomes immediately obvious what the man is worth”. He looked around, regarding Maedros attentively. “By the way, you do not look very bad from this point of view”.  
"Why did you say you had a little sister who died long ago?" Celebrimbor asked grimly.  
"Turin Turambar was saying this, and everyone was sorry for him," Sauron shrugged. "Why can not I?"  
"Enough of this". Maglor bit his lip furiously. “Get out of here!”  
"Macalaurë," said Sauron, settling himself comfortably on the couch and putting on his shoulders Finduilas’s shawl. "I understand your anger. Now I would like to talk with you about something else, namely about the murder of Finwë, because, I must admit, I really care about this”.  
"That is none of your business", said Maglor. "Get out and take away your dolls," and he pointed to Finduilas and Argon, who was still unconscious.  
"My dear minstrel, you have not seen _my dolls_ yet," answered he, "and when you notice them, it will be too late. You are lucky because I love my dolls too much and I cannot part with any of them. Some Ainur are younger than others are, you know. As for Finduilas, if someone indeed has serious doubts about her personality that may concern her life and well-being, I can bring at least two reliable witnesses who are able to confirm that she is indeed the revived daughter of Orodreth. As for Aracáno... I’ve got his body a few hours after death and was able to partially reconstruct the damaged area of the brain. I managed to call back his soul that did not yet leave for the Halls of Mandos - I think, because his family, especially Fingon, begged him too desperately to come back to life. Of course, there was no use in this: he only opened and closed his eyes, but at least the body did not decompose at this point”.  
"Did you control him? How?” Maedhros asked. "Can you do this now?"  
"Of course I can." Sauron beamed and took off his shawl, "Aracáno, dear, can you hang my cloak over there, please? I'm so tired”...  
Argon immediately opened his eyes, quickly got up and reached for Gorthaur, then froze and recoiled; almost the same thing happened to the others - all jerked and did not move for a while.  
It was much more than just an imitation of Fingolfin's voice: pauses, breathing, tone - everything was as if these words were coming from Fingolfin’s lungs, from his mind.  
Argon turned away, burying his face in his hands - then he rushed to the door, but ran into Carantir, who now seemed to have realized for the first time that Argon was here. Argon hugged him and hid his face on his shoulder.

"So you just addressed to him using the voice of Nolofinwë?" Maedhros asked calmly.  
"Yes," replied Sauron. “I started to try it relatively recently and discovered that he reacted to the voice of his father, sometimes giving meaningful answers to the questions, and even sometimes trying to tell him something. In general, in recent months the process was going on much faster, and I think that familiar faces and speech finally awakened him”.  
"And what will you do next?" Maedhros said.  
"I do not know," replied Sauron. "If Finduilas definitely is not of any use for me anymore, then Aracáno ... let's assume that you’ve borrowed him for a while".  
"That will not do," Maedhros said. "I do not agree on such terms."  
"Do not dictate terms to me", said Sauron in his own, hard and impassive voice. “Maglor just had peeped a heap of rubbish, implying that Aracáno’s family paid me something for his life. No, my darlings, I did it for free, simply because I like to delve into the brains of the children of Ilúvatar using both instruments and their own consciousness. It's just interesting: a warm clod, something like a piece of a rotten tree, may encompass words, images and even a tiny mind. Sometimes - unfortunately – it works not taking into account what happens to the rest of the body. However, it is sometimes difficult to look into someone else's brains. For example, you, Nelyafinwë - do you know why your brother went to Melkor?”  
Maedhros silently put the silver fruit knife on the table and looked at Sauron.  
"It's Papa's knife!" Celebrimbor exclaimed and came to take it; Maedhros took the knife back. oticing the bewilderment on the uncle’s face, Celebrimbor hastily explained:  
"This is indeed Papa's knife; he made a handle and a scabbard. Papa - my father Curufin - had the knife all the time, he brought it from Valinor. Papa gave it to my uncle Turkafinwë when they were expelled from Nargothrond - well, just to cheer him up, they both loved this thing”.  
"So you know this is a knife from Formenos?" Asked Maedhros.  
"Yes, of course," said Celebrimbor. "Papa and my uncle Celegorm went there to collect things, literally for a few hours, when it was already decided that the Noldor were leaving. Then my father got it – as a memory”.  
"We thought that with this knife Celegorm killed Finwë," Amrod said.  
“Wait!” - Argon exclaimed. “You all then came from Formenos and said that Finwë died in battle with Morgoth, that you found his sword, bent out of shape, and that his head was shattered... Where did the knife suddenly come from?”  
"Now it's clear that Finwë was obviously killed by one of his relatives, and I would like to understand, firstly - how, secondly - by whom and thirdly - why", said Sauron. “On consideration, it seems to me you yourself can name several reasons why I should be interested. I have plausible answers to each of these three questions: I practically know for sure by whom (there is a probable assumption), and there are several hypotheses – why it happened. But I do not have an answer to all three questions at once. I think it's obvious that here our interests partly coincide. If, with your help, I'll get answers to my questions, then maybe I'll leave you alone” - and he looked tellingly at Argon. "I'm ready even to tell you something that is known and seems plausible to me at the moment."  
"I agree," Maedhros replied. “Speak”.  
“Let's sum up the facts”, said Sauron. “Firstly: one Elf-women spoke, oddly enough, with Ungolianth, when she took the Elvish form for a short time. Ungolianth said that when she and Melkor arrived in Formenos, Finwë was already dead, his head was already broken, and there was a small wound on his neck. His head was smashed by the Silmarill casket. He was dressed in a long shirt with his coat of arms and a long armour bearing the coat of arms of Fëanor. At that moment, light was on the entrance to the treasury, and on the shelf inside the treasury there was a burning lamp. Secondly: recently we had many Noldor in captivity and it was not difficult for me to find out that the casket in which the Silmarilles are currently stored in Angband is not the casket that Fëanor originally made for them. That casket was broken, most likely at the time of the murder. Then the lock was separated from the casket. This lock somehow came to Fingolfin's family, most likely to Fingon. Then Turgon gave it to you, Celebrimbor, and you brought it here. Thirdly, you all already know that one of you wrote letters to Finwë's relatives in Tirion instead of your grandfather, and that someone - most likely, Fingon - came for a letter on the very day of Finwë's death. I have a question: why did you decide that this knife was a weapon of murder, as soon as you saw it and that Celegorm and no one else was responsible for the murder?”.  
Maedhros thought about it.  
"Of course, Celegorm wore grandfather's chain mail ... But most importantly, if Finwë was in a long shirt with a coat of arms, he probably did not have time to change his clothes after breakfast," said Maedhros. “The weapons were stored only in our father's part of the house. At breakfast, Grandpa used only this fruit knife. If someone came”...  
“Stop it!”, exclaimed Maglor. “Maitimo, please, let's end all this. I’ve already confessed the crime. We should not…”  
“Kano, you did not do that, you know it", said Caranthir. “Yes, I’ve decided not to see any of you again, but when Nariëndil told me that you, Kano, want to ruin yourself – “  
“Nariëndil, how could you?! Why did you bring Moryo?” Nariëndil was silent. “I’ve asked you... Clearly, neither Celegorm nor Curufin could know what kind of knife it was. I washed the blood off this knife, I’ve put it back on the dining table, where Curufin found it...”  
“And did you stab Finwë with that knife, too?” Sauron asked.  
Everyone was silent.  
"Oh you poor, frightened honeys", said Sauron mockingly. “Well, if you can not speak out frankly, let me tell you a tale. A lovely fairy tale about Valinor in the Age of Trees. Once upon a time a cute, handsome and (at that moment, at least) a completely innocent Elf went to visit his kind grandfather...”


	24. The Balcony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the fateful day, a grandson witnessed Finwë's murder.  
> That's what he saw.  
> PS: Caranthir is not what he seems!

The Hours of mingling of the Lights passed, but the radiance of Laurelin could hardly penetrate through the fog and gray clouds. Fingon ran his hand through his wet hair, feeling the tiniest droplets of warm, drizzling rain.  
He could not understand why he was so sad and anxious. Yes, he forgot that today was the day of the conception of Moryo - Carnistir, - and did not prepare any gift for the cousin. Moryo will be affronted. Still, Argon can do this next time. In addition, Finwë probably will give his grandson something as well.  
Fingon, as always, thought affectionately of his grandfather. All these years that the sons of Fëanor spent in the north, in Formenos, every morning Finwë left something nice and delicious at the door of each grandchild's room: apples, cookies, pies, - as if they were little children. Moreover, for the one who had his day of conception, was set a huge bowl with the largest plums and apples and a gift.  
Fingon jumped off his horse, tied the animal in a familiar place at the three tall oaks and walked.  
At the road stood Maedhros. The last time Fingon met with him three months ago: Turgon in his new homestead needed help of his older brother: Argon went after the letters. On the way, Fingon thought about how he would approach him, say hello, take his hand and they would go to the house together. After all, now there was no one to hide from - Uncle Fëanor left for the feast very early this morning.  
Maitimo folded his arms over his chest and looked at the road, where Fingon was supposed to appear. Since they had not seen each other for so long, Fingon realized with an acute hopelessness that they were not together, that the only person he could love would never be with him. The realization of the terrible wrongness of the fact that they always have to part for so long, the fact that any day the separation may become even longer, perhaps – eternal – became unbearable.  
In addition, Fingon was frightened. He thought that now he could just not stand this meeting and do something insane. "Later," thought Fingon. – “Later, when I take the letter. We will have time to talk. He will wait for me... "  
Fingon hurried to the house, making his way along the side path. From the south-eastern side, where Finwë's chambers were, Foromenos almost did not resemble a fortress; Fëanor, they said, did not want his father to feel like in prison. The outer wall was not too high; behind it was a slope, overgrown with small trees: some semi-wild cherry, apple trees, bent low by the northern winds and prickly thickets of blackberries. From the balcony in Finwë's favorite room, there was a magnificent view on this dark northern garden. In the garden under the large apple-tree stood a table and a bench for Finwë; at this table, he sometimes dined and under the guidance of Maitimo recently began to learn to read and write.  
Fingon easily crossed the wall; checked the bag and letters and went to the house. He wanted to give his grandfather the usual signal, knocking on the big tree under a balcony or throwing a pebble at the window. However, the bleak ashen stillness of this day somehow chilled him. Fingon stopped by the small fountain under the balcony. It was possible to enter the house through a small door to the garden, but Fingon heard someone's footsteps in the house on the first floor. He decided to climb onto the balcony, as he had done many times already, along the wall and dense creeping branches of wild grapes; If his grandfather was alone, it would be a surprise for him, if not – he could wait.  
Fingon looked through the glass of the balcony door; Finwë sat at the table, cutting an apple with his silver knife. He had already finished breakfast, but was still dressed in his long robe, and his wavy, curly hair was disbanded. Finwë was very punctual; looking at the water clock on the shelf of the sideboard, Fingon realized that until the end of the breakfast there was still about a quarter of an hour: until the time came, grandfather would not get up from the table.  
Fingon was again struck by his own resemblance to his grandfather: now, pressing his forehead against the glass, he might have thought that he saw in the glass his own reflection - only Fingon’s hair was almost straight. Of course, if he made tight tresses, they become as wavy as Finwë 's, but not for long.  
Fingon had already reached out to push the door; it even opened slightly, but he did not have time to say anything to his grandfather.  
Finwë turned to the entrance to the dining room and said:  
“Good morning! Have you returned from hunting? It is too early... You can have breakfast with me. Of course, the breakfast time is almost over, but since you all have a holiday today, I would like to stay with you now”.  
"Yes, I'm back," said Caranthir.  
He went to the table, but did not sit down; he looked somehow strange; Fingon saw that his hands were shaking. He could not understand why Caranthir was so upset - maybe Finwë also forgot about his day of conception?  
“I have a headache”.  
"You probably read a lot, like Atarincë does," Finwë said softly. “It's so very demanding. You sit up late and read by the light of these smoky lamps. Then you get up early. You did not even eat anything in the morning. One cannot do this way. You do not really need to hunt - it's just for fun. It would be possible to have some more sleep”.  
"You yourself always say that hunting is a man's business," replied Caranthir. "I've heard it so many times."  
"Yes, but it was so, when we lived in Endorë - our family would have nothing to eat if we did not hunt," Finwë said. "My father and I, being men, were..."  
"You – being men, were you not?” said Caranthir. “You and your father Tata?”  
"Yes, of course," Finwë said, smiling. He took another apple, cut out the core and handed a half of it to Caranthir. “Did you like your gift, Moryo?”  
Caranthir did not answer. He took the apple.  
"This age is completely different," Finvë continued, "and although you and your brothers are also men, you no longer have to..."  
Caranthir threw the apple against the table. It rolled, spinning, on the tabletop and fell to the floor. The young Elf instinctively jolted to pick it up, but somehow grew stiff, he shriveled; Caranthir clasped his fingers nervously and said:  
“So we do not have to - do not have to, huh... I'm always obliged - all the time - because I'm a Finwë, too... It's all because of you - because of you I have to be the next Finwë ... the fourth, the fifth, what's the difference ... Who cares?!”, Caranthir almost shouted. “Who cares?! Who cares if I'm not a man at all?”  
"Moryo ..." Finwë rose, meaning to come to his grandson; he looked – by force of habit - at the water clock: the breakfast time was almost over.  
“You in fact know _that I'm a girl ?_ You knew, right? You know this very well. Why do you tell me all this? You do know that I have to live in someone else's clothes, - well, in someone else's body, since my father needs yet another son – one more Finwë, don’t you know?!”  
Fingon clutched his own throat. He was out of breath.  
Yes, he himself had to understand it; he should have – some odd phrases, some hints, weird jokes, casual slips…  
"Moryo, what are you talking about? How ... it can not be!..."  
Finwë put the knife on the edge of the table; he wanted to reach out to Caranthir, touch him, caress him, but he froze, being afraid to make him more angry. "Please... your father never told me. I do not understand anything”.  
Caranthir looked suspiciously at Finwë.  
"Shall I tell you? Uncle Nolo just had Aredhel born to him - she is a few weeks older than I am. His fourth child. A daughter. My mother expected the fifth. Me. My father was so sure that there would be a son; he wanted a son, another Finwë... he probably thought that you would love him more than you would love Uncle Nolo... That's all”.

On a rainy, but warm morning, when Caranthir was born, Fëanor appeared on the doorstep of his younger brother's house. Nolofinwë asked about Nerdanel, asked - "how is your son?»  
During the wife's pregnancy, Fëanor often spoke of the future child as a boy, who was supposed to be the seventh Finwë in the family.  
And Fëanor answered: "My son? The son ... yes, my son, too, is fine." 

"And what about your mother?" Finwë asked in a dismayed voice.  
"Mother knows, of course, but we never talked about it. Except Macalaurë, no one likes me... Father asked him to look after me and to make sure that no one ever knew. Macalaurë raised me – he was an actual parent for me. You all hate me – and you, too, because I am not a boy. I know”.  
"Moryo ... forgive me! Forgive us!..." Finwë finally dared to reach out and touch the hair of Caranthir. "I'm sorry ... I love you very much, darling. Why do you say that everyone hates you? I love you. Maitimo does. The twins love you very much. Nolo, Anairë, and Finno love you, I know, and Aracáno just adores you. About your father – he just first talks, and then reasons - he can be so angry that he cannot even remember what he was saying, and he himself regrets it later. I am glad that you are a girl, Moryo - I had a sister, she is dead now, but I still love her very much”...  
“Love?!” - Caranthir stamped his - her - feet. – “Your love for me? And who put women's belongings into my bed? Needles? Threads? Stockings? Ribbons? Who did it?! Who put a bloody rag under my pillow when I was staying with Uncle Nolo? I do not even have my periods – my father started giving me some kind of medication when it began”...  
"What an utter nonsense," Finwë breathed out. "It is very dangerous – it can even kill you! How can this be?! Let him come back, and I’ll tell him”...  
“Oh sure!” Caranthir laughed bitterly. "Let him come back! You just cannot wait, do you? You both force us to be men! The other day I have seen you undressing in front of my father – you were there, all naked, in his studio! I saw it! I saw everything; I have seen in Tirion what you were doing, the two of you... well, Curufinwë has made you love him more than Nolofinwë, and I saw very well _how_!”  
Fingon's legs gave way; he sat down on the floor of the balcony; he did not see them anymore, but Finwë’s face was still before his eyes.  
"Moryo ..." Finwë managed to say with difficulty, "you do not quite understand. Your father just wanted to make my image; to show that he could create statues even better than your mother could. He just asked me to be his model. I'm sure he will be able to explain everything to you when he arrives”...  
"Father can explain _anything_!" said Caranthir. "But why do you treat me like that! My father left and you're making fun of me - despite the fact that you and my father act this way! What did I do to you?!”  
Caranthir began to sob hysterically.  
"I did not mean any offence", Finwë said. "Naught, Moryo. Nothing and never. I love you. Moryo, please. Live your life as you want. Father will not hurt you anymore. If you want, I'll go somewhere together with you, and see to it that no one ever upsets you”.  
"Stop it!" - The voice of Caranthir made glasses jingle. "You – today – you brought me apples – the scarf – a pie – and there was a bloody rag under the pie! Who could do this except you! It was your gift! It was yours!”  
"Moryo ... I swear!" Finwë said.  
Fingon got up - stood up to see what was happening in the room, because he thought that Finwë, speaking in such a voice, should kneel before his granddaughter – but no, he still stood face to face with Caranthir.  
“It was you! … You!”  
Caranthir simply was not able to listen.  
"Moryo... please... I could not do this to you. I will not allow anyone to mock you. I'll ask Nolo about this, he's the king. I love you as a grandson, as a granddaughter, as the most precious child. I'll give you another name - a girl's, if you want. Please, do live like a girl. You will then become _quieter..._ "  
Finwë’s last words were very much unwanted.  
Caranthir grabbed the fruit knife from the table and stabbed Finwë.  
Finwë fell down.  
Caranthir fell to his knees, continuing to sob. Behind the breakfast table, Fingon was not able to see her – he only heard hushed sobs.  
Fingon must have been terrified, above all, because Moryo lifted her hand against her grandfather. However, from the terrible expression on Moryo's face at that fateful moment, and from the sound of her sobbing, Fingon realized that the worst came about, something that should not ever happen in Valinor - Finwë died. The same already happened to his first wife Míriel, the grandmother of Maitimo and Moryo, the mother of Fëanor.  
"They'll lay him next to her," thought Fingon, remembering the body of Míriel lying in Lorien's gardens. "But how will they put him here? Moryo cut him with a knife, how will he lie there, being _cut_? Will he bleed?".  
He did not know how much time had passed when Maglor ran into the room.  
“Moryo ?! Moryo ?! You…”  
"Yes," breathed Caranthir. “Yes. I did it _again_ ”.  
"Why? You did not have to return home now! Oh, how could I let you go!”  
"The gift," said Moryo. “There was a rag. There was again a rag. The rag with... blood. Under the pie and apples, and scarf. This very morning”.  
"No ..." groaned Maglor. "No ..."  
Fingon saw them standing up, as Maglor embraced his younger brother – sister – convulsively.  
"Grandfather is dead," Caranthir lost her voice. "He's no more. Now they will kill me for this too. We must not kill other Elves”, she buried her face in her brother's shoulder. "Now everyone will find out that I'm a girl. They will undress me and look, and then they will kill me. Kano, how will I be killed, do you know? Kano, please - I'm so scared - also by a knife? It seems to me that the grandfather was not very much hurt – he did not feel much pain because of the knife. And who will kill me? And if he kills me, will he also be killed, because he will then be a murderer? And who will do it? It turns out, then we'll all kill each other, right? Then the last will have to kill himself? But this will be very painful, wouldn’t it, Kano? The last one will feel all the pain? Perhaps, you cannot kill yourself without being much hurt. Otherwise, you just will not understand whether you killed yourself completely or not. Maybe you'll kill me, Kano...? Is this possible, please?”  
In the eyes of Maglor there was an inexpressible horror.  
"No, no, do not be afraid, baby," he finally said. "Baby Moryo. No one will kill or even hurt you. No one will know anything. Please do not be afraid. It's all my fault. I'll save you. I'll do it now”.  
He bent over the body; Fingon saw that he had removed a bunch of keys from Finwë's belt.  
"We'll open the treasury now and take him there – as if Melkor came and killed him. Melkor wanted to come to Formenos. He wanted the Silmarills so badly that he would be able to murder our Grandfather”.  
"Can Melkor kill?" asked Moryo. “I don’t believe it. Valar do not kill anyone!”  
"It's not true, they are pretty much able to kill," said Maglor bitterly. "They kill when they want and need to. It’s sufficient to read Quennar-i-Onótimo’s _Annals_ to guess as much".  
"But, Kano, what could Grandfather do at the time in the treasury? We’ll be seen!”  
“Everyone will come only for dinner”.  
"Kano, do you really love me? You've been away for months last year – what were you doing? I thought you would not come back. To me it was so awful, I was so lonely”...  
"Of course I do love you, Moryo, I do not remember much about this trip – nothing special. Just do not be afraid. I'm going to take off his morning robe... you see ... I'm going to go to the armory ... wait here ... or go ... no, wait”.  
Maglor returned in a few minutes; in his hands was a chain mail, a belt and a sword.  
"Are you really going to take him there?" asked Caranthir.  
“Of course. Here is the key to the casket with the Silmarills, I took it from Maitimo’s room; here’s grandfather's sword. I'll open the treasury, open the casket and put it... _it_ , - Fingon realized that by “it” Maglor did not mean the casket, - he was talking about Finwë’s body, “on the threshold. Everyone will think that Melkor killed him”.  
"Kano, can we open the casket?" Our father will kill us”... Even now, Caranthir was afraid that Fëanor's would be angrier about the loss of Silmarills than about the loss of Finwë, the dearest person for Fëanor.  
"But nothing would happen to the Silmarills; I’ll just open the lock to pretend there was a thief who tried to steal them but failed. Everyone will believe that this was Melkor".  
Maglor rose and Fingon could not see anymore: tears streamed down his face as he saw Finwë’s head on Maglor’s shoulder, saw his long hair hanging down to the floor, saw him dressed in the long chain of mail – not his own: it felt like an outrage.  
Neither Maglor, nor Caranthir noticed that there was someone else on the balcony.  
When they went out, heavy rain poured; the wind flew open the balcony door; the curtains were pounding over Fingon's head; he heard a glass ringing – the wind broke the water clock. A small scroll rolled out to his feet, like a dead leaf. He read:  
_deer nkolo u porbally wheel be very sour praised when u receeve this ladder but its me…..._  
Fingon mechanically hid the letter in the bag, and descended from the balcony with difficulty, clinging to the iron fence. Staggering, he walked through the garden. 

But he still could not believe in what he’ve seen.  
Fingon decided to look if Maglor really did what he said. He went around the house and imperceptibly made his way to his once favorite place in Formenos - a thicket of raspberries and blackberries around the old elm that Fëanor did not fall, making a wall around him; from here he could clearly see the staircase and the door to the treasury.  
He saw Finwë’s white shirt, saw the shining polished chain mail (it probably was the armour of Celegorm, the rest of the brothers not clean the armour so often); he saw the water pouring down the steps. Then he saw a figure appear in the gray and dark courtyard. He – or she – was dressed in a silvery pink cloak that Fingon knew only too well.  
The visitor went to the door to the treasury, went down there and in a second his cloak glimmered again in the rain; in his – or her – hands - was the casket.  
Fingon wanted to jump up - let him be considered an accomplice of Caranthir and Maglor, that’s fine, but he could not afford the theft of the stones: he knew what it would mean for his uncle Fëanor!  
Fingon was prepared to shout: "Artanis, what are you doing ?!", when -  
Finwë rose from the staircase, which went down into the treasury, clutching his fingers at the stones with which the courtyard was paved. His long hair was soaked with water. He stretched his right hand to the one whose face under the silvery hood he could not help seeing.  
Finwë said:  
"Please, darling, help me get up! I’ve slipped and fell. I do not remember how it came about. I am fine – just help!..”  
The one, who held the casket in his hands did not put it aside, did not give his - or her - hand to Finwë.  
The person in the silvery pink cloak threw the box down furiously.  
There was a monstrous sound.  
Fingon's eyes went dark - he thought he saw a lightning strike in front of him.  
Forgetting about the casket, Finwë’s killer quickly walked out of the yard.  
Near the entrance to the living quarters, he dropped something in the mud, picked it up again and ran on.  
The rain became so strong, it was so black, that Fingon did not notice the person in the silver cloak disappear.  
Fingon jumped up and ran to the stairs to the treasury. Covered with blood, mask-like, Finwë’s face was intact. But his skull, like the casket, was smashed to pieces.  
Now Finwë was indeed dead. 

*** 

"And now, dear baby Noldor," said Sauron, "explain to me the moral of my fairy tale. For fuck’s sake – why your cousin Galadriel kill Finwë?”

  



	25. The Silvery Cloak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why Celegorm became a traitor?  
> Why Fingon removed the lock?  
> We find out more about the cloak and the one who tormented Caranthir... but what about the murderer?

"Where did you get all this from?" - Maedhros said, shocked. "It must be ... It was in the papers you’ve got from that letter bag in Fingolfin’s grave, right?"  
"It does not matter," Sauron waved him off. "The main thing is that Fingon saw this, and I have no doubts about it. Well, maybe I’ve added a little, um, feelings. Now, finally, you must explain”...  
But no one answered him. Everyone looked at Caranthir.  
"Moryo..." said Maglor in a trembling voice. "Did we ... Does it mean we did not do this?"  
"No, you did not," said Sauron. "Obviously, your grandfather just was cut slightly, and then lost consciousness because of your impudence, that's all. You could as well make love in his presence, it would have the same effect, I guess… although, if we believe Caranthir’s accusations as regards Finwë and Feanor, some illicit sex would not have surprised Finwë very much”.  
"Please," Maedhros said in a strained voice, addressing to no one.  
"Do not worry," Sauron grumbled. "Morifinwë, tell me, please: you saw Finwë posing naked for Fëanor in the studio. Ok, I believe. I have a question: if you saw something, so to speak, less innocent, did it happen in Tirion or in Formenos?”  
"It happened in Tirion" replied Caranthir. "Also in the workshop”.  
"Let's just say… I would not bet my life for it, but I think that one of the participants in this scene was not Fëanor - or not Finwë", Sauron said. “You see, since our Master has lost the ability to change his appearance, he is most upset by the fact that he is now incapable of such adventures. He told me that in Valinor he liked it best: to make an Elf believe that he (well, maybe she) - had been in a forbidden relationship, perhaps, with his or her own brother, son or father, and then enjoyed himself, witnessing the victim’s shame and despair. I would like to know whose role he played in this case ... So, are there any ideas about Galadriel?”

"Gorthaur," Maedhros sighed. "You see: if Fingon indeed wrote or said "the silver cloak of Galadriel”, he did not mean it was the cloak that belonged to her”.  
“Indeed?” Sauron was genuinely surprised this time.  
"Galadriel made an unusual silvery pink cloak," explained Maedhros. “No one had ever made anything like it. And her father, Finarfin, recalling the incident when she wouldn’t give our father a lock of her hair, said that she should, - so that her cloak would not cause jealousy and displeasure in the family, - weave three more cloaks: for her father Finarfin, Fëanor and Fingolfin”.  
"It means there were four such cloaks. Then everything is much clearer", said Sauron.  
“How is it clearer?” Amrod asked in bewilderment. "But then who ..."  
"All this time I could not understand why Galadriel did it," Sauron said. "I am aware that at this point she was already going to marry Celeborn and then move to Middle-earth. She was not at all interested in Finwë's demise, and even more so, because of this almost all of her family moved behind the sea with her: I don’t think it was what she wished. And if it was not her, then the reasonable cause can be found. It turns out that there were two cloaks in Finarfin's house, right? Finarfin himself and his wife, Earwen, could use them as well as their sons - Finrod, Aegnor, Angrod and Orodreth, and Galadriel of course (she still had her own cloak), - and, by the way, Finrod’s fiancée Amarië. I do not know about Celeborn. What about the House of Fingolfin?”.  
"We in our family just kept this cloak in the hallway," Argon explained. "I'm sure none of us did it, but I, Finno, our father, mother, Turyo, and his wife, Elenwë, could take it. For my sister Irissë, it would have been too long, but, of course, she could use a pin or stitch it to make it shorter. He could have been worn by one of our relatives, for example, Elemmakil – he was a son of Mama's sister or by one of Elemmakil’s sisters”.  
"The murderer intentionally, I would say, cynically, put on this very "Galadriel cloak", knowing very well that all sons of Finwë had this thing. At the same time, at least Fingolfin's cloak was not kept locked up, Fingolfin was the Noldor king at the time, and I understand that in Valinor, just like here in Beleriand, his house was always open to anyone who wanted to see him. What about your father's cloak, Nelyafinwë?" Sauron asked.  
Maedhros thought and answered:  
"As far as I remember, my father put on that cloak when he went to Valimar. But... of course, he could come back. On the other hand, he could hand the cloak to Curufin: he was seeing our father off. There is another possibility, the one I do not believe in, but still imaginable: my father, as you all remember, did not like to ride side by side with other people. He, frankly speaking, was a poor rider, the horses did not obey him, and it seemed to him all the time that they would obey even worse if someone were around. That is, Curufin could well wear his dress, - the gray traveling cloak with a hood - ride his horse and our father could return to Formenos. Curufin was supposed to hunt that day, but no one had seen him. But actually I do not believe that my father could cause the slightest harm to our grandfather ...”  
“Nelyafinwë, but imagine that Fëanor decided that the Silmarills were missing because of Finwë?” Said Sauron. “Fëanor, most likely, could not do this with a premeditated intention – but what if he came back and suddenly saw that the casket was empty?”  
Maedhros said nothing.  
"Okay, let's say I'm ready to discount Fëanor," Sauron continued, "but for now we do not completely rule out Curufin. About you and your brother", He nodded at Amrod,"I'm not sure either. Who knows what the two of you may have had in mind”...  
"Just remember how you tossed one of the Silmarills at the floor in my presence, and even said -"what a wonderful glass, it’s unbreakable", said Argon in an innocent voice.  
"It can not be," said Sauron.  
Amrod blushed.  
"I did not toss it," he said. “It fell. We just wanted to show you that we can handle them...”  
"All right," Sauron waved his hand, "that’s that. So, Maedhros, I - presumably - exclude you, because we know that at this time you were waiting for Fingon on the road. I'm pretty sure that you would not leave until you were finally convinced that your sweetheart would not come today, which would be a few hours after Finwë's death. We know what Maglor and Caranthir were doing; because both believed that Finwë had been actually killed by Caranthir, they would hardly have struck him again: he only woke up when the person in the cloak came up to the stairs, and neither Maglor nor Caranthir had any reason to have this cloak ready in advance. I do not see a motive for Celegorm, and, in general, the story with the knife is a defense both for him and Curufin: if Curufin saw Finwë wounded by a knife, he hardly could take the knife from Formenos openly, and Celegorm - accept it as a gift if he could have suspected that it was a weapon of murder”.  
"It means that Celegorm sold himself to Melkor only so that he could be healed", Maedhros said coldly.  
"You're upset, Nelyafinwë, I can see it in your eyes," said Sauron. "Do you want me to upset you even more? Celegorm is actually disabled and all this time he is in great pain. It's just that Melkor has the ability... I think it's related to the power of the Valar over time - he can freeze all physical processes inside the body and regardless of the state of the body in question, it will move and do what Melkor wants. It's a kind of doll, too, but it's, of course, a much coarser thing than I do. I, relatively speaking, glue the doll and change it inside - if it's necessary for me - and Melkor takes the wreckages and puts them on a string; if he lets go of the thread, it is again a heap of fragments. In fact, it is very convenient ability; I can do this if I need to keep someone alive during torture or for another reason, but I have enough resources for six to eight hours only, perhaps twelve – well, one time I’d managed to keep an Elf alive for sixteen hours. Melkor can make such a "doll" run around for months and years. Naturally, since everything inside the body at this time freezes - well, as the plants in the earth do in winter - until Melkor forces Celegorm to get up and carry out his orders, his body is not being healed, and his recovery is delayed more and more. A few more years in the service of the Master - and Celegorm’s body may never recover, even if Melkor lets him go”.  
"And if he stops supporting him…" Celebrimbor said in a dismayed voice.  
"Then he'll be lucky enough if he falls in a place where someone can throw him a piece of bread", Sauron replied coldly. “Or not lucky, it depends… However, let's get back to business. It sounds, of course, a little unpleasant, but I would say that I exclude Fëanor and you, his sons, because all this looks well thought out in advance. Do you disagree? You all spent twelve years in Formenos, if I'm not mistaken. If someone wanted to get rid of Finwë - this could have been done earlier. Of course, one might think that something extraordinary happened, but, for example, the liaison between Finwë and Fëanor (a real one or staged by Melkor, it does not matter) took place in Tirion – there was nothing new and it’s hard to explain why someone would plot something against Finwë years later”.  
"But Moryo just ... They’ve made her lost her temper," Maglor said softly. "Could it be on purpose?"  
"Of course," said Sauron. "Morifinwë, do you know who planted stockings, ribbons and rags in your room in Tirion?"  
"Yes." Caranthir nodded. “The sons of Finarfin - Orodreth and Angrod - or Aegnor. I am sure about that. In Formenos I began to doubt... but later, already here in Middle-earth, Finrod confirmed to me once that his brothers had indeed arranged such ... jokes”.  
"Uncle Caranthir," said Finduilas, who was silent until then. "There, in the Palace of Mandos, Uncle Angrod and my father told me to ask you to forgive them. Now they are suffering because of this. If they only knew that you were _really a girl_ , they would not do it. They just thought that since you are so handsome, short and ... well, modest, - it was meant to be funny”.  
"Good," Gorthaur nodded. "But, Caranthir, after all, in Formenos, in your room, even before the day of conception, all sorts of women's needles, pins, ribbons and other stuff also appeared. Did it start right after the move?”  
"No," replied Caranthir. “At first everything was fine in Formenos. It started about a year before... the day you’ve mentioned. At first, I thought that it was someone who got Grandfather’s letters. Aracáno or Finrod. Aracáno swore to me that it was not him, and I... remember, I asked you, Maitimo, that the sons of Finarfin no longer come to us. But even in winter, when all was covered in snow and no one could come - I came into my room and found a red ribbon tied on the back of my bed...”  
"Why did not you tell me anything?" - Maglor approached Caranthir and squeezed her hands in his; she did not respond to his gesture, continuing to look somewhere else.  
"I did not know how to tell you, Kano," replied Caranthir. "I had a feeling that if it were you - my brothers, my family... maybe my father... that you have the right to do this to me. I had nowhere to go and I had no right to complain".  
"So who did this in Formenos?" Gorthaur asked.  
Maedhros thought that there would be no answer to this question.

"It was me," said Celebrimbor.  
"How come?" Maedhros was so taken aback that he sat down on the couch next to Sauron.  
"You ..." Caranthir was also shocked. "You ... are you ... the son of Atarincë?"  
"Wait," Maedhros finally came to his senses. "You were not in Formenos. I lived there, but you did not”.  
"No, I lived there." Celebrimbor smiled benignly at everyone. "A few months, and maybe more. My father missed me very much, he came for me and took me with him to Formenos”.  
"Where could you live there?" asked Maglor.  
"I lived in the chambers of Finwë," said Celebrimbor.  
"Yes, this I can not check," snapped Maglor. “You pick out strange places to live. So Finwë knew you were there?”...  
"No," answered Celebrimbor.  
"It just could not be," Maedhros said.  
"I lived in the rooms of Indis, his second wife," explained Celebrimbor, "it was understood that she would not come because of Fëanor. My great-grandfather every day did the same, keeping proper hours. He got up at five in the morning; I got up half an hour later. He had his breakfast - I could go to the dining room half an hour later and have breakfast, too. My father left for me milk, cheese and cookies or fruits in the sideboard. Finwë and everyone else left the training hall - then I could go there. In general, I just moved from room to room, to the place where there was no one at that time. In my father's workshop, I spent quite a lot of time with my Father; sometimes my grandfather Fëanor came in, but he never noticed me, or at least did not pay any attention. Therefore, no one in Formenos except my own Father saw me, I think. By the way, I saw you, Uncle Canafinwë and Uncle Morifinwë: when I entered the dining room that day, you stood at the table and looked at something on the floor. I did not notice what it was because of the tablecloth. I thought that something was dropped”...  
“And then?” Maedhros asked.  
“I went back to my room and decided to wait for dinner. Then it got horribly dark, I heard a noise, looked out into the yard, saw you all with torches. I realized that something terrible had happened... Then you all left. I saw the other Noldor burying Finwë. There was some food left in the sideboard, I ate it. Most time I stayed in bed crying. I did not know what to do next. Then my father and uncle Turkafinwë – that is, Celegorm - arrived". Celebrimbor sighed heavily. “My father said that he returned mainly because of me, he was very afraid for me, - he thought, maybe they’ve killed me, too”.  
"Then explain to me, my dear, why did you put all this stuff in the rooms of your uncle – or your aunt's, whatever”, Sauron asked. "Did you bring the bloody rag too?"  
"Yes," said Celebrimbor. "They told me that it was a custom of Finwë's house – everyone does it. And something that must be done on this very day of conception was exactly to put to the door this rag soaked in blood, because my uncle Carnistir is a prince of the Noldor and he is of royal blood”.  
"You know, Nelyafinwë," Sauron gave Maedhros a friendly wink. "I think he still can not be trusted to buy food on the market. Who knows what he can buy. Perhaps, you’d better ask Caranthir. Celebrimbor, my friend, who told you that?”  
"A boy," Celebrimbor explained. “A very tall boy in black clothes with green buttons. He was very interested in the Silmarills and he asked about grandfather's work in general. I even gave him some semi-finished details that were spoiled or did not fit”...  
"I know this boy," said Sauron. "He's still interested in the Silmarills. Even wears them on his head. I suppose it's pointless to ask you if you killed your great-grandfather; you probably would say something like “they told me that it was a Noldor custom: when your great-grandfather turns three thousand years old, you must break his head."  
"Because of my father, who was ashamed to admit my very existence, I grew up among the Teleri”. For the first time they heard anger in Celebrimbor's voice. “I had nowhere to find out what the Noldor did and how they lived. I have never spoken to my great-grandfather. I once spoke with Fëanor, and he did not know who I was. No, I did not hurt anyone in the family”.  
"And Morgoth..." Maglor began, with some relief in his voice.  
"Do not name names, Macalaurë," Sauron grimaced. “Yes, he somehow arranged it – but he made a Noldo do it. The only question is who the person that learned Melkor’s lessons best was. Morifinwë was being driven frantic constantly and methodically: a rag was put under his gifts on her day of conception; it was meant to provoke the extreme anger. Tell me, please", Sauron asked Caranthir," if Maglor then really told you: "you did it again" – does it mean you tried to hurt a relative before?”  
"Moryo, do not answer him," said Maglor.  
"Yes," replied Caranthir. "You, Kano, wasn’t there anyway. At home there was only Telvo. He saved mo... Nerdanel. However, after that she made the decision to leave us. You see ... she said that I did not do anything, did not work. Indeed ... when it was about the Silmarills and the casket, you, Maitimo, made the stones with our father, Macalaurë processed the materials for the shell, Celegorm made the crown in which the father wore them in Valinor, Curufin - the casket walls, the twins made the lock. And me ... I was not allowed to do anything. Nothing ever”.  
"Moryo" said Amrod. "Our father was just taking care of you, was keeping you safe. I now understand, although I did not realize it then. He just considered you a fragile girl”...  
"Well, well," said Sauron. “Women are not weaker than men, but often stronger; your Elven women - for sure. Moreover, in everything that Fëanor was doing, physical strength played almost no part”.  
"My father remembered Míriel, how tired she was of life," Amrod protested. "He knew about Finwë's sister, whom he lost when they both were young. Father did not want to ..."  
"Why, Finwë’s sister fell from the tree," Sauron waved him off, "it was an accident. Anyway, an Elf-maiden who does not give birth to Fëanors, does not climb trees and is not involved with human rabble” he looked attentively at Finduilas “has every chance to live to the end of the Arda. Many First-Born Elves are still alive. By the way, about the lock on which you, Amrod and your brother, portrayed the first Elves of the Second family: did anyone see in in possession of Fingon or heard the story about how he cut it out of the casket?”  
"But if you yourself heard or read Fingon's story, then ..." Meadhros paused.  
“Unfortunately”, - Sauron spread his hands, “this was the end of my fairy tale. I do not know what exactly Fingon saw inside the treasury. I do not know what made Fingon take out the lock from the casket wall. By the way, I do not know if the killer dropped something in the yard accidentally, whether he or she really picked it up and what it was. In addition, when Melkor and Ungolianth appeared in Formenos, there was a lantern on the shelf in the treasury. Has anyone else seen it?”  
Maedhros, Maglor, and Amrod responded negatively. Caranthir, on consideration, also shook her head.  
"I went into the treasury to have a look - after Finwë had been taken away," said Celebrimbor. "I had a candle; the lantern would have come in handy in such darkness. The lantern was not there”.  
"So," Sauron summed up, "most likely, this situation was somehow calculated in advance and the murderer, acting in concert with Melkor, expected several variants of the development of events on this day – the day of the conception of Caranthir, when Fëanor – that was very handy – was away. Suppose Caranthir gets mad and Finwë decides to leave Formenos: then the killer somehow takes the Silmarills from Finwë on the way (by deceit or simply steals) and gives them to Melkor. Perhaps it was supposed to go as it actually happened: then the treasury could become available, too. It is likely that Finwë should have been familiar with the killer and trusted her or him, especially if this person appeared to “save” him from Caranthir’s rage”.  
"But if Finwë simply left Formenos, the stones could remain in the treasury," said Maglor.  
“I do not think so. After all, you remember that only Finwë had the key to the treasury, "Amrod objected. "After leaving Formenos, he ought to pass the key to our father, but most likely Finwë would not leave the stones in the treasury unattended, even if it were locked, if he left the house, especially if he were leaving for good. I think Finwë would take the stones and the key – just to be on the safe side. And the casket”...  
"The casket problem is more complicated," Sauron agreed. “The killer either got with him another key, which is very unlikely, given the intricacy of the lock, or managed to enter Maedhros’s room and pick it up (which means that he was familiar with the house plan). Perhaps, he did not intend to open it at all but was going to give it to Melkor closed”.  
"I’ve unlocked it myself," Maglor said bitterly. "With your key, Maitimo".  
"Kano," Maedhros remarked, "the murderer could not have known beforehand that you would open the casket. What did you do with the key?”  
"I ... I probably took it back to your room," said Maglor. "I do not even remember now."  
"By the way, Nelyafinwë," Sauron asked, "when got the lock, did you try to open it with your key? Is it genuine?”  
"Yes, of course," Maedhros answered. “Both are genuine”.  
“Can you show it?”  
Maedhros went to his room and brought the lock wrapped in his scarf and took off his key that was hanging on his neck.  
"Look, there are two turns here, and two there. It's really our lock”.  
“How cute!” Said Gorthaur.  
A wave of hot air spilled across the room; Argon coughed, Maedhros’s breath stopped.  
Gorthaur was embraced by a light blue flame; for a few moments he appeared before them in the form he preferred: copper hair with a metallic shine came down below the waist, rubies sparkling in black robes. He gave another wink to Maedhros, grabbed the lock and the key with one hand, with the other - Finwë's silver knife and exclaimed:  
"Tyelperinkwar, you're so funny! Let's go to the market again!” 

With these words he disappeared. 

  



	26. Guess who?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turgon asks the right questions. Could Curufin's wife be a part of a sinister scheme?  
> What are the Silmarils?

_…ere yet darkness overwhelmed him and the blindness of malice, he [Morgoth] looked upon Turgon and knew that from him should come, in some time that doom held, the end of all hope…  
The Grey Annals_

"It looks like I am kidnapped again", Maedhros said to himself, falling on the unexpectedly soft and supple carpet of summer grass.  
The gentle rustle of leaves, the voices of birds and the buzzing of insects sounded so calm, that even after feeling a burning sensation on the back of the neck, in the first second, he mistook it for a bite of a horsefly.  
Now he was looking at the transparent green leaves from the ground, unable to move. He remembered how he was taken to the ruined Gondolin and felt not even anger, but an insult: after all, two months ago, he and Sauron spent several days under one roof, talking in a friendly manner: why again grab him and drag him by the scruff of the neck, like a puppy?

When he woke up, he saw the earth floor of a hut, his own feet and boots, and then felt someone's thin and cool fingers on his eyes.  
“Guess who?” asked a voice.  
In the first fractions of a second his heart froze and stopped, not even his heart, but all his insides - as if only a skeleton remained; then Maedhros came to his senses, understood and exclaimed:  
“Turyo!..”  
Turgon put his arm around his shoulders and whispered:  
“You’ve guessed right. Do not be angry with me, please. My Avari friends arranged this for me - they have arrows imbued with sleeping draught”.  
"Turyo..." Maedhros breathed out, trying to get up. His hands and feet did not yet obey him.  
"I trust you so much that I did not even bind you," Turgon said, smiling. “I really need to talk to you without extra witnesses”.  
Maedhros, at last, was able to turn around and hugged his cousin with such force that Turgon nearly screamed; he did not come to his senses at once, realizing that Turgon must be hurt when he squeezed his shoulder with the healthy left hand, pressing his nails into his skin through a thin shirt.  
"I'm sorry," Maedhros said. "It's just that I'm very glad to see you - madly".  
He understood that it was Turgon, but, having looked at him, he realized that, having met him on the road, he might not have recognized him right away - maybe if it were not for the latter’s height. His head was tied with a green scarf, he wore his hair in two thick, blond braids; Turgon’s once snow-white skin had time to get sunburnt. Besides, he looked much younger than Maedhros remembered. Of course, Turgon experienced the most terrible pain and loss in his life: he lost his city, saw his subjects perish and suffer; but at the same time the heavy burden of anxiety and responsibility fell from his shoulders; there was practically nothing to lose now.  
"You... are you all right?" Maedhros asked.  
"My landlady and I sometimes go to cities and markets", Turgon replied. – “We sell our works - you can not get everything in the forest, especially now, when it's dangerous to walk through the woods. They say that I am a granddaughter of their friend, who lives somewhere far behind Ered Luin. I usually wrap myself in a cloak, come in when it's dark or foggy, and try to keep my mouth shut – and I dye my hair white”.  
"Did you really escape from there with Penlod? How?"  
"Well, almost," Turgon said. "Sorry, I can not tell you everything about it now. I heard the wildest rumors about Morifinwë and Tyelko and about... my brother Aracáno; I really need you to tell me how it happened”.  
"I do not know if it's worth it," Maedhros answered. "I think... you see... in a word, our grandfather..."  
Telling how helpless Argon was when he first came to their house, Maedhros saw tears rolling out of Turgon's eyes - but only once. Otherwise, he listened to Maedhros’s story with a terrifying calm.  
"What do you think? Who could do it?" Turgon asked.  
"I have no idea," replied Maedhros. "Judging by what we know, it could have been anyone - I, you, Amarië, Penlod, Elemmakil... I do not see any point in..."  
"Actually not _anyone_ ", answered Turgon. “The main purpose of the criminal was to get the Silmarils. Regardless of how Moryo would behave and whether Finwë was supposed to leave Formenos after that, the criminal should have expected at least that Finwë would open the treasury in his presence. Being a king, Finwë tried to treat everyone kindly, but even he had his likes and dislikes. He, for example, showed the stones and treasury to Amarië, but I know that he could not stand Glorfindel, although he did not know anything bad about him and would not open the treasury for him. Now, Maitimo, tell me this. Maglor, as you say, decided to "unlock" the casket with your key. I personally do not understand why Maglor did it - allegedly, to prove that the criminal’s goal were Silmarils and Finwë was killed because of the stones. In my opinion, the dead Finwë and open door would be enough. Perhaps it was necessary to carry the casket away and hide it to make all this convincing, and Maglor did not do it. And here I have the most important question: yes, Maglor unlocked the casket, but did he open it?”  
“What do you mean?”  
"I would like to know, Nelyo, whether the Silmarils were in the casket at that time."  
"But ... but ... Turucáno, how could they not be there?" - Maitimo jumped to his feet; He felt dizzy, and he rested his hand on the low ceiling of the hut. "My father checked the treasury before he left. It was ten to twelve hours before... the murder”.  
"So you still did not understand what happened, Nelyo, did you? The assassin hoped to get the Silmarils one way or another acting through Finwë, since only Finwë had the key to the treasure chest itself. Finwë was unconscious, treasury open – the criminal walks into the treasury, opens the casket, and there is nothing there. And then he broke Finwë's head with the empty casket because he – or she – was furious”.  
"Well, how did the Silmarils end up in Middle-earth, than?" asked Maedhros.  
"I think the Dark One secured himself and asked someone else to open the treasury and get stones for him", Turgon replied. “Therefore, it is possible that the thief of the stones and Finwë’s killer are different persons. As far as I was able to find out, Fëanor left at half past four in the morning or a little earlier. Did he check the stones before he left or the day before?”  
"The day before," said Maitimo reluctantly. “As far as I understand, my father did not sleep at all. He did not want to go and was very worried before leaving; Grandpa also fell asleep later than usual. They descended into the treasury about eleven in the evening or a little earlier, I think; then my father wished Grandfather good night, and he went to his own room”.  
"Yes," said Turgon. "Grandfather slept very fast, and in his chambers, Celebrimbor was hanging about all this time. Celebrimbor could have taken the key of the treasury from the room of his great-grandfather and passed it on to someone, at least to his father - or to his mother, whom we, incidentally, do not know yet. I do not think that Celebrimbor would tell you about this even now. You can even assume that in the morning, when you all already went outside the gate, someone – perhaps, Galadriel or someone else - came to Formenos before breakfast and asked our grandfather to open the treasury. For example, he or she could ask to open the treasury and check its contents allegedly at the request of Fëanor or vice versa, - to ask Finwë to show them the stones because Fëanor was not home. Then they managed to distract his attention somehow and take away the stones”.  
"I can not imagine this" said Maitimo.  
“Why? It was easy” Turgon shrugged. “If there were two of them, the second (well, for example, Celeborn) could make a noise in the courtyard, our grandfather would go upstairs to the courtyard, and during this time it was possible to turn the key four times to open the casket - and four more to close. Yes, in fact, the second move was not necessary: I am not sure if Maglor is telling the truth about the fact that he opened the casket; maybe, in fact, he did not open it. If the casket remained in place, Finwë could not suspect anything”.  
"Wait! What about the key to the casket? After all, my father took his own with him and my key hung over my pillow. I slept in my room until five in the morning, even, perhaps, until half past five", Maedhros remarked. “If someone comes into my room, I immediately wake up”.  
“If you think about it, there was a lot of opportunities”, said Turgon. “The key could be copied - I could not do this, but I think there were persons skilled enough for this among us - yes, even Celebrimbor could do it - at that time too, perhaps, and for several months he has an access to the keys. You could ask Amras and Amrod for another key, since they've already made the two keys. Amras is dead and will not tell anything, and Amrod, I think, clearly is not telling us everything. Again - no one saw how Maglor allegedly opened the treasure - I think, even if Caranthir was present, he - she - was totally deranged and did not understand what was going on. I do not exclude the possibility that it was already open: for example, the thief opened the treasure at night with Finwë ‘s key, then when you went hunting, he took from your room the key to the casket and took the Silmarils. Maglor either did not pay attention to the fact that the door was already open, or was an accomplice of the thief”.  
Maitimo had to agree - yes, the version of Turgon looked frighteningly believable.  
"And the most unpleasant moment, Nelyo," said Turgon, "is something else. If we want to know what really happened, we have to be honest, right? You know, when I first learned in Angband about the change of the casket, I told Sauron and Gwathren that I suspect your father of fraud and murder, and I consider you and your brothers to be his accomplices. That is why Sauron first undertook to find out what exactly was known to you. Forgive me. At that time, I rather believed it... but in fact, I have enough grounds to suspect my own father. Of course, you could not see this, but he appeared in the evening at the feast later than Fëanor. In contrast to Fëanor, he was wearing ceremonial clothes; he had given the cloak to one of the servants before he entered the hall, but the hem of his dress was wet on one side. I then thought he had been waiting for someone in the rain for a long time or had traveled somewhere - maybe he wanted to talk to Uncle Fëanor in advance without witnesses. And when my mother asked him: "Where have you been?» he replied: "Well, now it's not important".  
"I ... I just want to tell you one thing, Turyo," Maitimo sighed. "Although all the Eldar say that no one loved his father like Fëanor, I know that your father loved Finwë as much as mine, if not more. I know that you all loved Fingolfin as much. You cannot believe things like that. You just must not”.

***

Turgon turned away for a moment; then he looked again at his cousin and said:  
"But you, Nelyo, were sure that none of you could ever break the Oath. Now you know that Tyelko..." Turgon fell silent when he saw Maedhros' face.  
"I ... I just cannot think about that. I can not" - he managed to say. “I think about it every night. He... he did not quite turn into a monster. It hurts... it's scary... How unfair it is. It's easy to say that he had to keep his courage and not pursue an illusory hope for healing, but... I keep thinking - if we were there, in Aman, if only he stayed... the younger ones... if only I and Cano follower our Father…”  
"And what about Aman?" Turgon asked. Maedhros was surprised at the contempt in his voice.  
"The Valar would have healed him," Maedhros replied.  
“Indeed? Really? Do you think so?” answered Turgon. "Tell me, have you ever seen someone healed in Aman by the Valar? I'm not saying that one could do something for Míriel, this was is a special case, but have you seen them not whispering soft words over the broken knee, but healing such dreadful disability as Tyelko’s?”  
Maedhros thought about it.  
"I did not see it personally," he said, "but I think it would be natural..."  
"I witnessed it once", said Turgon. "Yes, both the Maiar and the Valar can heal, but... You know, when I was still a baby, Findecáno took me for a ride on horseback and set me on his horse. I was very much confused and scared when the horse was at full gallop, I nearly fell; Findecáno did not have time to stop and, trying to hold me, he fell from his horse and broke his wrist: he was very badly hurt and lost consciousness. I was sitting on a horse, too afraid to get down - it was very high. I was crying desperately, calling for help, but we went so far that no one heard me. I do not remember how much time passed – and one of the Valar appeared in front of me and healed my brother. He came to his senses when the Vala had already left. And since then, Nelyo”, - Turgon smiled sadly – “I decided that I would always be very earnest and self-possessed, and no one would suffer. However, that day I saw how demanding the healing was, and I myself doubt very much that even Oromë would try so hard for Tyelko's sake. Well, or Ulmo for me”.  
"But Turyo", Maedhros looked hesitantly at his cousin, "the Valar had split the gorges, turned the mountains, tore off islands from the mainland... It’s just a broken wrist..."  
"It's about a living body, Maitimo," Turgon said. "If everything was so simple with living beings Valar could easily grow again a whole grove of Telperions and Laurelins". He squeezed his cousin’s hand. “I am so sorry about Turkafinwë. So sorry. But what about Morifinwë now?”

... After Sauron disappeared, Maitimo approached the one he had always considered his brother. Caranthir layed off a heavy black cloak, and Maitimo saw that he was dressed in a long, modest, dark gray female dress with a thin red thread of a pattern on the collar, girded with a wide red ribbon. This was the dress of an unmarried girl from the house of their grandfather Mahtan.  
"Sorry," Caranthir said. "I can not lie any more"...

"He received a very grave wound during the Battle of Doriath", Maedhros told Turgon, "and he did not allow anyone to take care of him except Maglor. It turns out that then he promised himself that if he survived, then he would live like the one he was born. He stopped taking drugs that had not allowed him - her - to have... female features. Moryo says that if she cannot undo the evil that she did, then she can at least not deceive everyone around. I'm still surprised when I see him - her - now”.  
"Yes, it's hard for you to get used to this," said Turgon.  
"Moryo did not want to see us for a long time. She did not want to show us the way she was now. Only when Nariëndil told her that Cano's life was in danger... She lived on Amon Ereb almost alone. The Men there, as she says, know so little about Quendi that they took it without much surprise - many people there believe now that we can change our sex at will”.  
Turgon smiled bitterly.  
"If only we could do it _at will_ " he spat out. “If I…”

Maitimo took his hand cautiously and was surprised at how cold it was. He looked at the pale face of his cousin and suddenly realized how difficult this conversation was for Turgon: he imagined how hard it was for him, being face to face with someone whom he had known for so many years, to behave as usual, as if during this time with nothing happened to him.  
"Turyo... well, you want... do you want me to get to Maeglin and kill him? Do you want it?" He saw with pain as Turgon lowered his head, shoulders, bending, hiding his face in his lap.  
"Do not... why... No, do not. If it were only for Maeglin..." Turgon replied.  
Maedhros embraced Turgon and pressed his head to his own chest.  
"Do not feel so bad... I understand everything..."  
"What do you understand?" said Turgon.  
"Turyo, do you think that when I was there – in Angband - they only tortured me, and nothing else?" asked Maitimo almost inaudibly. "Do you think I ... I did not endure it? The r-r-rape…”  
Turgon embraced him impulsively. He did not cry, but Maitimo felt that he was trembling all over.  
“Did _he_ know?..”  
Maitimo realized that Turgon had his brother Fingon in mind.  
"Yes," answered Maedhros. “From the very beginning. He... he pitied me. This is how it was”.  
"He's so kind", Turgon said with difficulty.  
Maitimo pressed him to him, whispering something in his ear, stroking his hair, bleached by the sun; Turgon also answered him in a barely audible whisper, but Maitimo understood everything; gradually the tremor subsided, and Maitimo felt warmth from Turgon's body. It was getting dark outside; they spoke for a long time, almost silently and to no one, and they never mentioned this conversation later.

***

It was already quite dark when someone knocked at the door of the hut, and they heard Penlod's voice:  
“Turincë? Are you here? I'm worried”.  
“Well, shall I let him come in?” Whispered Turgon.  
Penlod walked in, holding a lantern; when he saw Maedhros, he blushed, embarrassed, and even tried to back out of the door.  
"I do not have anything against you, Penlod." Maedhros rose and held out his hand to him, "you could not tell me the truth. But I saw in your eyes that Turyo was at least alive, - you never could be so happy if he died”.  
"Yes." Penlod nodded. "Yes."  
"Nelyo, do you mind if I tell Penlod what we know?" Turgon asked. "Maybe he also has some considerations. After all, it was he who noticed that the stones are stored in another casket”.  
“Are you talking about this again?” Penlod shrugged. "About the Silmarils? Well, why?..”  
Turgon stopped him with a gesture and retold everything he heard from Maedhros.  
Penlod bit his lip.  
"I did not think it was that bad," he said. "I'll tell you something, Maitimo. Your father could not do this because I was in his troop when he went to Valimar; I did not live in Formenos itself, as you remember, but I went after him. He wore the cloak all the way, and then, until you and your brothers arrived, I always saw him _and_ the cloak - either on his shoulders, on his arm or in the hands of one of his confidants”.  
"So he and Atarincë have nothing to do with it," said Maitimo with relief, glancing sideways at Turgon.  
“Why is that?” said Penlod. “It does not exclude Curufin”.  
"But you yourself said that Curufin could not have our Father’s cloak," Maedhros said.  
"Curufin could have as many such cloaks as he wished," Penlod shrugged, smiling sarcastically at Maedhros and Turgon. Both of Finwë's grandsons stared at him in surprise. "You mean you have not met his wife?"  
"Yes, Penlod, until recently I was not aware that Curufin was married and had a son," Maedhros said.  
"Then, Nelyo, I'll tell you that Curufin's wife was a Teleri and, before she secretly married your brother, she was a personal maid of Eärwen’s".  
"Oh," Maedhros nervously pulled his hair, as he always did when he was so confused that he did not know what to say. "Yes... of course, now I understand why he could not tell father about her. No way. Of course, my father hated Finarfin in a different way than your father... sorry, Turyo - but he would not have put up with that”.  
"That's it," said Penlod. “I think she helped Galadriel to weave this cloak - Artanis is not such a great weaver - or, in fact, the cloaks actually were made by Curufin’s wife alone. Moreover, of course, to take Finarfin’s or Galadriel’s colak for her was no problem - even though at that moment she no longer served in the house of Finarfin. What was her name again... Luan... Luin...”  
"Luinnetti," Turgon said. - "I remember her as my aunt’s maid, but, of course, I did not know anything about her and Curufin”.  
"Atarincë is no longer alive," Maedhros sighed. "Even if he was to blame..."  
“Nelyo”, - Turgon took his left hand in his, “of course, you may be right. But we do not know what happened to his wife; we do not know whether Celebrimbor played any part in this. The three of them could have done it. Of course, someone who is no longer alive could be a murderer: maybe he died while crossing the Helcaraxë or fell in the Battle of the Stars with Fëanor. The Dark Vala told him or her a pack of lies, and we know that he does not keep his promises - remember what happened to Ungoliant. However, Nelyo, I understood long ago that Finwë was not killed by him". He glanced around and lowered his voice." You already know that it was I, as best as I could, who prompted Sauron to start this investigation".  
“But why?” asked Maitimo wearily.  
"I’ll tell you something", Turgon replied. "and I’ll repeat this to Sauron, if I have to. In fact, it does not really matter now who exactly killed Finwë. What interests me now is not Finwë’s murder, not who exactly broke the casket against his head, but quite another matters. For example: let's say that the Dark One enveloped himself and Ungoliant with darkness, secretly crept to the Trees, secretly got into Formenos and so on. How for all this time, none of the Valar did understand what was going on? We now know that when Finwë was killed, Melkor was not in Formenos itself, but next to it. What about things that happened in Formenos? Moryo hit her grandfather with a knife; this was an extraordinary act for our life in Aman. Could Manwë and his maiar fail to see it from the summit of Taniquetil? Why - forgive me, Maitimo - when your father behaved so arrogantly and insultingly, Valar almost humbly begged him to stay in Aman? What about my father, who did not do any wrong to anyone before the Alqualondë, who at that time was the king of Noldor? Why no one tried to stop him? Now, if you think about it, this whole story with the unsuccessful sailing of Voronwë to Aman seems to me very odd, too. Do you know the story of the ship from Aman, who came to Falas a hundred years ago? At my request, they found witnesses to this incident: everyone said that there was a woman on the ship, who threw herself into the sea and committed suicide at the sight of the shores of Middle-earth. And Cirdan said that it was an accident”.  
"Cirdan is an odd kind of person, in my opinion," said Penlod.  
"About Cirdan, by the way, Ëol told me such a strange thing, Penlod, that I still do not believe him", Turgon replied. "Well, of course, if that’s indeed so, it changes the..."  
"But why Ëol... that is, are they both?.." Maitimo interrupted. Penlod threw a panicky look at him, and Maitimo saw that his suspicions were true.  
"They are my children," Turgon said. "Mine and Maeglin’s. I think you understand perfectly how this could happen. Do you want to ask something else?”  
They looked each other in the eyes, and both Turgon and Maedhros said at once:  
“Forgive me”…  
"Turyo, I'm ready at any moment to do anything for you, just ask," said Maitimo. “You know. Come on... let me kill Maeglin anyway - at least”.  
"Yes," said Penlod.  
"No," said Turgon, to the surprise of both. “Maeglin can still be useful. He is very clever and rather cunning in fact. I think he already realized that he was deceived and there was really nothing for him there. Now he plays a fool very successfully, and so, in part, he still manages to fool Sauron himself. So for now - no. However, thanks for your suggestion. And what are you all going to do next?”  
“Maglor continues to persist in wanting to go to Gil-Galad and ask him to punish him and Caranthir. I do not really like this idea, because... because the Stone is there. I really would not want this horror to happen again, Turyo”. Maedhros, despite all the decades that passed, the centuries he lived as a cripple, unconsciously bared his right hand, trying to twist his fingers in a familiar nervous gesture, but the left hand only scratched the edge of the empty sleeve. "I want to see Gil-Galad, of course, but I do not want to go there. I'm not sure of Maglor's sincerity. Turyo, he behaves strangely... that is, I've noticed before that he forgets something, confuses things, but now, after all that I've learned about him, it seems strange to me. Nariëndil after that incident fell out with him. Moreover, Caranthir also somehow grew cold towards him - they hardly talk at all now. Caranthir herself is not against this journey - even realizing that it can end badly for her; she says that the confession was a great relief for her and punishment will be only a joy. Since our funds have always been mostly in her hands, Caranthir says that she needs to settle all matters here and gather the necessary supplies, buy horses and all that stuff, and that takes time. Amrod decided to commit to Finduilas, but they are both ready to go with us; Finduilas hopes to see his aunt Galadriel at Sirion”.  
"Well, then we'll meet again - I think you'll pass us by." Turgon smiled. "And I have one more request, Nelyo. You made the Silmarils with Fëanor, did you not? Do you remember well the dimensions, the length of the facets and so on?”  
"Of course," replied Maitimo.  
Turgon took out a ruler, a sheet of paper and coal.  
"Can you draw a scheme for me – all surfaces with dimensions, full size?”  
“Yes, I can”. - With his left hand, holding the ruler with his thumb and compressing the coal between the middle and index fingers, Maitimo was able to quickly draw a good drawing.  
"Very well," Turgon replied, "it’s very similar".  
He quickly kissed Maitimo on the forehead and put out the lantern. Maitimo felt a stream of cold air from outside and realized that they had left.  
*** Returning home in the morning, Maitimo found Argon, who, lying on the floor on a wolf's skin, was examining a huge treatise on the lands of Beleriand.  
"Oh, I will not remember all this, Nelyo, you must give me an examination", he groaned. "My head aches terribly. However, you have to know the land where you live... Where were you?”  
"I walked in the woods," replied Maitimo. He did not want to tell Aracáno that he had seen his elder brother. Turgon did not ask for it.  
"What do you think about in the woods, alone?" Argon asked suddenly. "I would not be able to think about anything, I would only listen to the noises, expecting enemies to appear…”  
"I was thinking about our grandfather ... I thought who and how he killed him," admitted Maitimo.  
"Ah, Nelyo," said Argon, "you'd better consider who killed _me_. Although you probably do not care”.  
“What?” asked Maedhros, dumbfounded.  
"Well, I did not die by myself", Argon said. "I did not tell you, did I? We all slept near huge ice floes, and in the early morning I climbed one of them – to see what may come next in our journey; the day before there was a fog, but at dawn it was all fine. I often did this; I was good at climbing ice. The cold was terrible, the ice floe seemed strong... And you see, Maitimo, here I was, then it cracked, I collapsed to the ground, then ice splinters flew to me, and one crashed right into my temple. Literally a few moments. But... why did it break? While I was flying down, I understood. When I climbed there, I felt that there was a smell of burning. In the middle of the icy wall, there was a thin black strip. All around it was trampled, no one could trace the culprit, of course, but I'm sure that it was like this: someone took a large piece of iron, for example, a sledge part, heated it in a fire and melted the ice while everyone was exhausted and we all were in deep sleep. Someone knew I would go there. Now I understand that this was not the first attempt, it’s just before I managed to avoid danger or easily get off...”  
Maitimo recalled Turgon's words, which may have been said, perhaps not accidentally:  
“Of course, someone who is no longer alive could be a murderer: maybe he died while crossing the Helcaraxë or fell in the Battle of the Stars with Fëanor”...  
Now he no longer knew what to think: whether Turgon's words concerned Aracáno himself, or the one who killed him.

***  
Penlod was almost ashamed of himself, but he was always ready to cry from love and affection when he saw Turgon and their child. Now he melted again, seeing his son throwing a rag ball, and Turgon laughing and catching it. Seeing his father, Gilfanon turned and immediately rushed to him; Penlod caught him in his arms and let him go and play.  
"You know what, Penlod?" Turgon's voice suddenly was very quiet. "Do you think that I'm ashamed of our love and that's why I do not want to return to my people? Ashamed of you, of my Gilfanon? Are you ashamed?”  
"I ..." Penlod began. – “I love you. Sometimes it seemed to me that I tortured you with my love; I kept thinking that it was hard for you to carry our baby. When he was born, I understood... I believed that you love us both. No, I'm not ashamed, not at all”.  
Penlod still rejoiced that Turgon did not have to suffer for a long time because of the child: the delivery began at dawn, and by noon he was already holding his son in his arms.  
"I'm not ashamed too, Penlod. I am ready to tell the whole world, to everyone who has ever known me, that you are my husband and that I love you”.  
Penlod blushed, embarrassed. At that moment, he loved Turgon as passionately as he had never before, but did not dare to interrupt him with a word or gesture.  
"I'm not ashamed of Maeglin's children, either", Turgon continued, "these are my children, and if necessary, I will try to protect them if it is within my power. I am afraid of something else. I have thought it through very carefully, Penlod: things you know, things that you should have guessed, and things you apparently do not know. What I really do not want is my own tribe and other Elves considering me a traitor. In my opinion, we are in a desperate situation, and I think that the only thing that can be done is to somehow negotiate with Mairon. You understand how it will look like”.  
"But he did let us go, and he still does ..."  
"I'm not talking about us personally," Turgon interrupted grimly.

In the evening, when they were alone, Penlod again remembered Turgon’s words - "you are my husband and I love you" and now Penlod wanted him madly. Once he got into a conversation with Elring, and, trying to get an answer to a relatively innocent question, received some very frank advice on how to please a woman. He found that his lover enjoys caresses intended for women, and now, looking at Turgon's thoughtful face, he wanted to embrace him, comfort him, to please him…

Penlod dozed off and, waking up early in the morning, saw that Turgon was drawing something by the light of a candle. He walked over and saw that Turgon had copied the Silmaril drawing that Maedhros had made, made two more of them and cut them out of paper. They were lying close to each other, and beneath them was another, larger drawing. But Penlod could not understand what was portrayed in it.  
"What is it?" He asked, yawning. “It looks like the Fifth or Sixth gates of Gondolin... yes there seems to be ... there is something wrong from above...”  
"Well, let me turn this for you" said Turgon. – “Do you see now?”  
Shocked, Penlod sank down into the chair.  
"No... No, Turyo. You do not want to say... No, you do not mean that. No. No. O Ilúvatar, no!..”  
"Yes, Penlod. Yes, and I'm almost sure of it. Now I'll wait until Mairon figures it out. Mairon does not like being deceived and does not forgive deception to anyone. And when he understands this, a pandemonium will break out - I really would like to survive and see this”.  
Turgon pulled out the big drawing, crumpled it and threw it into the fire.

 

***

Penlod thought he had to get up, must find the strength to lead Gilfanon away - the child must not see what Sauron can do to Turgon. But he only continued to frantically press the boy to himself, asking him to remain silent.  
Turgon walked towards Sauron in his modest, dark blue winter coat, lined with rabbit fur; Sauron’s scarlet-colored garments sparkling with precious stones threw pink reflections on the snow.  
It was too far for Penlod to hear their conversation.  
Sauron angrily slapped a tree with his silver-clad cane.  
“Turgon, could you at least stop talking in Quenya, it makes me even angrier?” Sauron asked sarcastically. "Well, you can at least call Maedhros _Maedhros_ or something."  
"No, I could not, Quenya is my native language," Turgon replied. "You know what, Mairon? I agree, let's be frank", Turgon said, unexpectedly harshly. "If you want to know the truth about Finwë’s murder, it means you want to know the truth about your Master, do not you? Do you think the examination of my father's grave and your attempts to get the casket key could go unnoticed? After all, rumors there will be anyway, although I'm almost certain that among the people who opened the tomb only Nathron had come alive”.  
"No, Nathron and two other people, if I'm not mistaken," Sauron corrected grimly.  
"They are lucky than", Turgon agreed. "But how much do you need to talk about the investigation of Finwë’s death now? I understand that my words may sound biased, but imagine: Findecáno was in some way connected with the murder of Finwë, and he put the evidence in the grave of our father; later I took it out and asked Celebrimbor to hide it. It all looks as if either we both were the killers, or me, or Findecáno, or our father was the murderer. If all this will become public, Noldor may not want Artanaro Gil-Galad, the son of Findecáno, to be their king. If, for example, they make Nelyafinwë their king again, does your master like it?”  
Sauron thought about it.  
“What do you suggest?” - he asked.  
"Take a break," Turgon said. “Wait a year or two. Or more”.  
"Why should I, Turondo?" Mairon also spoke in Quenya now, "to agree to your impudent offer?"  
"Because you, Mairon, are intelligent enough to agree to a reasonable proposal, even if it's someone whom you do not like you makes it in an inappropriate tone," Turgon replied. "For example, Mairon, I perfectly understand why you behaved like this. You are actually not interested in destroying the elven kingdoms, are you? I know that you did not want to attack Gondolin, and that you would prefer that I accidentally fell from the tower or from the wall and Maeglin would rule the city on your behalf. I know from Gwathren that you sent your henchmen to Doriath to take the Silmaril from the sons of Fëanor and give it to Elwing, and that you ordered the sons of Fëanor to be spared. You postponed your plans for attack on Sirion…”  
"It seems to me," said Sauron, "Gwathren told you a lot of unnecessary things. As regards Sirion we have the sons of Fëanor. They will just turn everything over in Sirion with pleasure, since there one of the Silmarils is there”.  
"Gwathren only told what he could tell without harming himself," Turgon remarked, "the rest of which I guessed. After all, you understand perfectly well that if no one of us remains, then the next step of your master must be an attack on Aman. You, I repeat, are clever enough to understand that most likely, this will be the end of your master and your end, too. You know better than anyone else – nothing in life is free of cost. You know that the Silmarils destroy the flesh and spirit of your lord; burnt hands are a trifle, only an external sign of what is happening inside. Everything has its reverse side. Yes, Nelyafinwë was encouraged by the feat of Luthien and Beren to protest against you, and united the elves and people in the “Union of Maedhros". However, it seems to me that your master would not be able to throw such forces into the Battle of the Countless tears, if one Silmaril was not taken from him: because of the fact that the stones were two, not three, his power increased by a third. Perhaps now it seems to you a reasonable move to give all the stones to the sons of Fëanor somehow. It’s very unlikely that my cousins may eventually return to Aman; then your lord can regain a significant part of his power of old and you can count on winning. Nevertheless, what effect did the stones have on the one who bore them, for these five hundred years? What's left...”  
"All right, I understand," Mairon stopped him. "Well, let's say I agree to follow your advice and wait a year or two. By the way, are not you wondering who killed your grandfather, Turondo? If this, of course, was not you”.  
"I've been thinking a lot, Mairon." About myself, and about my relatives, and about you. The murder of Finwë was a very terrible and unpleasant incident. But it's a thing of the past. First, we must now think about its consequences. And you, Mairon", said Turgon "have to consider two things".  
"I wonder which ones?"  
"First, what the Silmarils are made of".  
"It's not a mystery to me," Mairon said. "I know the answer to this question: they are made of glass - as one of the Noldor said, Fëanor gave “ _all those magic lights a body to dwell in of such perfect glass as he alone could make nor even Aulë compass, so great was the slender dexterity of the fingers of Fëanor_ ”.  
"Mairon, do you know that none of the Noldor does work on glass better than me?" Turgon asked.  
"No," Sauron said, a little surprised. "I heard that in your rooms in Gondolin some unusual glass was inserted in the windows and I even bothered to get samples; that which reached me was really incredible, but I did not know that you made this yourself”.  
"I've been working with glass since I was fifteen," Turgon said. “I know everything about glass. What the Silmarils are made of is not glass. Perhaps, the younger sons of Fëanor believe this; perhaps Findaráto or my brother Findecáno told you this. However, frankly, I am almost sure that the two older ones, Nelyo and Cano, know the truth, even if they say the opposite. I do not know _what_ it is, but you should find out what you are studying in your laboratory and what exactly Melkor is ready to keep at any cost. And the second question, Mairon. I would have found out why Cirdan called an "accident" that was clearly not an accident”.

__

__

END OF PART II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was rewritten for the English version and united with one of the previous chapters.  
> "all those magic lights a body to dwell in of such perfect glass as he alone could make nor even Aulë compass, so great was the slender dexterity of the fingers of Fëanor” is a quote from The Book of Lost Tales, HoME, Vol 1.


	27. Interlude: The Romance of the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile in Valinor a bespectacled Elf is musing about his life before he was reborn :)

_At dawn the shadows of the Mountains of Defence lay heavy on the Blessed Realm.  
The Silmarillion_

The young Elf woke up in the middle of the night. The window was open. He believed he closed the window in the evening: from the Pelori mountains a cold east wind started to blow.  
He did not want to sleep. He sat down on the windowsill and looked at the sky. Maybe he should read?.. He opened a book on the night table and sighed. Of course, his mother or father were able to read in the moonlight, but his vision left much to be desired. He reached for his glasses. A white-golden blot on the page formed into a slender figure of Ingwë, king of the Vanyar Elves; behind him was a huge white tower. The king held the hand of another Elf, less tall, lithe, garceful and dark-haired; his name was not written on the page.  
“How strange it is that I need glasses for reading!” - he thought. Usually the Eldar had no problems with vision. There were two or three such cases: as a rule, it happened because of a long and hard work in the smithy or after long hours of sewing, when an elf, who was obsessed by his creations, did not observe the prescribed hours for rest and sleep, or because of accidental injuries and burns. However, he was very young, and his parents never let him get too tired or put himself at risk.  
From friends he heard that may happen to those who have already lived one life and were reborn again. These Eldar sometimes were endowed with special signs – sometimes they could be read as symbols related to how they died: for example, a light white scar signified a trace of the fatal wound. He saw several Teleri, who, as he was told, had once drowned: their faces were pale, and their nails seemed blue. But what happened to him? Nobody could tell him. He had a friend who at last remembered what had happened to him before - but they did not even have time to talk: for some reason he had to leave almost immediately and departed for the North. He really wanted to know what happened to the Eldar, who lost their lives and were born again. How could you even die? To depart this life? What could be the case? Here, in the Immortal Lands, no one ever died…  
He knew that one could go to Nienna's abode and ask her to help them to restore the memory, but his parents indignantly rejected this notion. No, they said, he could not be one of the reborn. He has nothing to remember.

In early morning, the day before yesterday, King Ingwë did them a great honor, visiting their house. He kissed the King’s cold hand, studded with silver rings; Ingwë sat beside him. It rained; a warm haze seeped from the ground in the garden, and the air smelled of white and pink magnolias. Ingwë shrugged his shoulders and said:  
“There is so cold. All because of the East wind. You need to move closer to me, on the western slope of Taniquetil. And I saw some strange flowers near the garden path”.  
"It's oiolossë". His father was surprised. "They grow all over Arda."  
"Anyway," said Ingwë. "Who knows what may come here with the winds from behind the Mountains of Defence?"  
"Your Majesty," the young Elf finally dared to address to Ingwë, «beyond the mountains... Is there really a land called Endorë? The Land, from where we Eldar came to Aman?”  
"Yes," Ingwë nodded, "that's what our elders are saying".   
"Your Majesty" he tried to fold humbly his hands on his knees, but the trembling in his fingers still did not stop. «Your Majesty... there are, after all, the Eldar, who die there... they perish and are reborn here. Is it good that they are… dying? Yes, they are reborn here, but in fact, it probably should be very scary? It pains, doesn’t it? Why do not we help them?”  
"And why do you think they are dying there?" Ingwë asked.  
“I’ve heard that dragons live there... huge monsters. Wolves and werewolves. Ilúvatar's younger children, possessed by dark desires... The Orcs...”  
"Darling," Ingwë gently embraced his shoulders. “These are all only vague memories. Can this all be true? Dragons, wolves, intelligent creatures, possessed with a thirst for murder... Can we believe all the memories of those who were supposedly reborn? It sounds more like a nightmare. In any case, there is nothing like this here in Aman”.

After Ingwë’s departure, he could not find peace. He wanted to talk to someone; he was embarrassed and upset. Mother, as usual, was embroidering on a garden bench by the door; a raindrop fell from a flower on her work and she frowned in displeasure.  
"Mother," he said, "the king did not want to tell anything to me... I'm still thinking... maybe others... If you ask other kings..."  
"What other kings?" his mother responded abruptly. "Your king is Ingwë. There are no other Elf kings – and Vala Manwë - the King of Arda”.  
"Child," his father interjected, "your mother means to say that other kings should not interest you, even if they exist. Indeed Ingwë is the King of Vanyar Elves, to whom I belong. We love you, son. You read too much and look at the pictures; it is better for you to take a walk”.  
He left the house and walked down the road. A neighbor's boy by the road, dug a green lawn and piled high wall of peat, beyond which, despite his high growth, he disappeared almost completely. Although the wall appeared only in the morning, because of the heat and humidity on it already grown thin grass.  
"Well, what are you doing here?" he asked his neighbor. "You ruined the whole lawn."  
"Come and play with me," said the boy.  
"I'm already an adult," he said gravely. “Well, nearly an adult: I'm already twenty-seven years old”.  
“What a fool”, - the boy snorted. "Do not you want to build a city? I'm going to dig down the underground passage just in case if the dragons attack. As they do back in Middle-earth”.  
"There are no dragons," he said. “It's a fairy tale. And we do not know what is really in this Middle-earth…”  
"Who told you that?" asked the boy; now he sounded as an adult and his voice was very earnest.   
"Our King Ingwë."  
"Wow," answered the boy. "Your king Ingwë! You should at least go to Tirion, and talk to King Finarfin."  
“With whom?”  
"Finarfin," the boy said. "Arafinwë Ingoldo, if it means something for you."  
"I probably should not..." he answered, rubbing his forehead. "And where is this Tirion? Arafinwë... Finwë… Yes, "Finwë" and "Ingoldo" sound familiar... Wait – the king?.. Mother says that there are no other elven kings...”  
The boy came out from behind the earthen wall and looked at him attentively.  
"Do not you remember anything at all?"  
"I should not," he answered, and ran into the house. But with every step his confidence melted.  
The next day he decided to talk with his neighbor again, but the boy did not show up. The freshly dug earth turned green with grass and mold.

***

Now he was looking at the moon - and suddenly the moon began to appear to him bigger and bigger; the moonlight became heavy and tangible; it seemed to him that it was soaking his body with cold metallic waves; the stars around the moon trembled and seemed to retreat. His eyes felt so cold that he closed them. White flowers outside the window froze and blackened. He got up, stepped back from the windowsill, and immediately saw that someone else was sitting on the window - a tall, sparkling figure. The white face was translucent, like a marble statue: it seemed to him that under the marble he saw strange veins of silvery blood. His fingers were covered with silver rings, on the forearms - wide bracelets, behind his back there was a silver bow. In his room came Maia Tilion, the helmsman of the lunar boat, the ruler of the silver island in the heavens.

"Hello," said Tilion. "You have not changed at all since I saw you last. In Middle-earth, many still mourn for you”.  
"Does Middle Earth exist?" He asked a stupid question.   
"Perhaps, I know better," Tilion replied mockingly. “Of course it does. I saw burnt and broken bodies, saw corpses gnawed by wolves and saw the place where your bones lay».  
“My bones?! How could one live there at all?” he asked. "How could I have been there ?! If this is a place when one can die – if there really are wolves and dragons... If you can live here in Aman...”  
"Not everyone can live in Aman," Tilion replied. “The high columns of the Valar and Laurelin are broken. Now Aman is just another land under the rays of the Sun and Moon, though protected by the sea and the mountains of Pelori. And even here, in Aman, there is a place for evil and falsehoods. That is why I agreed to come to you, although this request comes from someone whom I do not want to obey. But I dislike hate and violence. Therefore, I ask you to return to Middle-earth. Come back and come to the aid of your brother”.  
"My brother?" he dropped his glasses in confusion; they did not break because they fell on his book. He picked them up and put them on again, staring at Tilion's iridescent, white-gray eyes. “Do I have a brother? Is my brother in danger?”  
"Help your brother," repeated Tilion. "Please. Although I have not been everywhere, I saw his agony, I saw the days and months of suffering that he did not deserve. Now the most terrible thing can happen to him”.  
“What?” He began to imagine various horrors: dragons, orcs, burning ships, fiery spirits with luminous whips, stony dungeons, embittered Eldar, who raise their swords and axes on each other, ravens and bats... One of these thoughts became a host of black silhouettes that flashed in his brain. It was no longer fear, but a real recollection... “What about my brother?”  
"If you do not help," Tilion repeated, "the worst thing can happen to him. Your brother will be captured and returned here. In Valinor".


	28. Sauron's Showcase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the story of how Argon became a part of Maeglin's retinue and of one more unhappy elvish prisoner.  
> May Argon have a clue to Finwë's murder?  
> Warning: this chapter contains mentions of rape / volience (mostly non-graphic). It you like, you may skip first part of this chapter (before "One morning Melkor appeared in Maeglin's rooms")).

In one of the previous chapters, we mentioned Maeglin’s “family”. Maeglin’s sons (or fathers, as you wish) already appeared in this story, but the presence of his uncle Argon and the “family” was left unexplained. We have to go back in time and return to the day when Turgon left Angband in Gwathren's company.

"Uncle, you must have already had your breakfast, may I bring you the children for half an hour?" Maeglin asked.  
He looked into the room and for some reason immediately understood everything. Turgon left him. He did not even try look into the bathroom and into the sitting room and kitchen.  
He did not turn his head when Nathron came in and sat next to him at the table.  
"Maeglin..." Nathron began. "Maeglin, listen to me..."  
Maeglin glanced at him.  
"You let him escape, did you? If the Master had taken him, I would have known. And Gorthaur would have given me an order”.  
"Yes," said Nathron, "I did it".  
“So what? Shall you tell me now what a bastard I am? Yes, I could…”  
Maeglin realized that he really could not do anything - not because he did not believe that Melkor would find his uncle. He just realized that his feelings were now irrelevant for everyone. In his old life Turgon was the only one who treated him if not with understanding, then at least with care.  
Nathron embraced Maeglin by the shoulders.  
"Son," he said. “Stop please. Your father is now with you again. Do not torment Turgon anymore”.  
"You do not care if my father lives or not," Maeglin muttered.  
"I ... I do care, Lomion," replied Nathron. “I... I do not know about you, but I'm happy. I loved Ëol. I loved him all my life. For hundreds, for thousands of years, we parted at most for three or four days. Even if he does not remember me now, I will still be happy, knowing that he is alive. Lomion, if you're half as happy as I am, if you really love Ëol, I beg you... "  
Nathron paused.  
"It's useless," he thought. "Maeglin is not like his father. He never loved anyone. He just wants to be loved".  
Maeglin turned to Nathron and the older Elf was almost surprised to see his red, tear-stained eyes.  
"Nath... then it' was you – you were his friend, - his boyfriend, right?"  
"Yes... Maeglin, you see, I..."  
"All right," Maeglin sighed, "I’ve got this already, I mean, the fact that my father had a boyfriend. It was rather obvious. I always felt that my father had someone before, but he knew nothing about women at all and could not tell me anything about them. I did not even know how to talk to them, not that... Well... a Green Elf, my father's servant... oh, I forgot his name already, so many years have passed... He mentioned once or twice "the one that was before"; and I heard a couple of times dwarfs asking my father - "where is the one who used to come with you"...  
Maeglin dropped his head; Nathron gently ran his hand over his hair, afraid to anger Ëol’s son, but Maeglin did not move.  
"Nath," Maeglin muttered, "will you make me a fur coat? Last winter I was freezing terribly while I went to Himring. And warm gloves. And the banner. Gorthaur even told you something about the banner...”  
"I will, of course," said Natron, with a sigh of relief. “Of course, not the one he was talking about – the beautiful one, with gold and gems”.  
"Well... probably, I still have to tell Gorthaur about this," Maeglin said, getting up. "Do not be afraid, Nathron, I'll say that I let him go. You wanted it, did you not? As a matter of fact, it’s so”. 

"Yes, I am already aware of that." Sauron waved his hand. "It's better for everyone involved. However, you, Maeglin, when you come to our Master, shall ask him for a new toy – the same kind of toy”.  
"What for?" Maeglin was surprised.  
"Because, Maeglin, I do not like it when my work is lost."

***

"I ..." Maeglin began, "in general, everything is fine».  
"So, will you get more kids anytime soon?" Melkor asked.  
"Yes, you know..." Maeglin spoke in his distinctive impudent, unceremonious manner, which he himself very much liked; it seemed to him that it made everyone disposed towards him, although in reality those who have heard this all-too-familiar tone found Maeglin quite disagreeable. "Turgon is not all right again. After he gave birth to my sons, at first everything seemed fine and now again he’s got rats in the attic all of sudden”.  
Melkor smiled approvingly. Despite being so powerful, still he overestimated his possibilities and extent of his power. He believed that the "insanity" of Turgon was due to his conversation with the former King of Gondolin. The idea that only a sight of him can drive an Elf crazy delighted Melkor.  
“He does not recognize anyone; he’s just sitting, you know, looking nowhere, and I could not even force him to bathe. Well, it's disgusting, you know?” Maeglin spread his hands. “If I bang him, he may give birth to a freak. I'll wait, perhaps he may recover. We are not in a hurry. And when my father grows up, I will do everything for him”.  
"It's true, Maeglin, we still need Ëol" Melkor said.  
This thought was not very pleasant for Maeglin, and he continued hastily:  
"I wanted to ask you. Could you probably assign me a valuable prisoner to have fun somehow? Master, you’ve have raised me so high, that it’s now below my rank to buy a slave in a market or take one who was a servant in the barracks…”.  
"Below – your - _rank_?" Melkor looked at him inquiringly.  
"Of course," Maeglin shrugged. "We had a talk about this - I have my needs. Some needs of a bodily character. In the end, I can have children with someone else”.  
Melkor burst out laughing.  
"I've gotten to the point where I understand the bodily needs of one like you," he said.  
Melkor waved his hand, calling the guards.  
"Bring Elemmakil here", he said in his most unpleasant, lifeless voice.  
Maeglin, while serving Melkor, saw many of his fellow Elves who were beaten black and blue, raped, wounded, worked to death; he saw in what state Turgon was after several weeks of captivity; after all, he himself laid his hand on his defenseless kinsman and, with Sauron’s permission, violated him. However, Elemmakil’s appearance made Maeglin shiver. The former captain of the Guard of Gondolin was emaciated, his face ghostly pale, his hair greasy. Elemmakil could barely stand on his feet. He was barefoot, in a shirt, stained with dried blood; in his hands, he held a small bundle of the same bloody cloth, obviously torn from the hem of his shirt. Maeglin saw that it was a baby only a few days old.  
"Is he able to give birth now, too?" asked Maeglin.  
"Of course," Melkor said. "Mairon made for him his trademark clockwork c…” Melkor added his favorite word. “He can do this."  
The contempt towards Sauron in Melkor's voice seemed to Maeglin very inappropriate. Although outwardly Maeglin remained the same, in recent months, especially since Sauron drove him out of his own quarters, he changed a lot. Although Maeglin himself was a royal nephew and took part in the defense of Gondolin, Gondolin was still only a single city-state. Maeglin now understood the problems Sauron was facing - the issues of war, weapons, and control over the occupied lands and the scale of the said problems. At the same time, it was clear that Melkor's participation in the solution of these practical tasks was often not useful, to put it mildly.  
"All right, I'll take him with me" Maeglin said.  
The former commander of the Gondolin guards trembled all over: in Melkor’s throne chamber there was a huge window that opened on a wide balcony. The window was open: gray mountains towered in the distance, and heavy, sticking snowflakes flew into the hall.  
"This one, to whom he gave birth," Melkor smiled, "is probably no longer for this world. You had better throw it out”, - addressing Maeglin, the Vala pointed on the balcony.  
Once in a conversation with Melkor Maeglin said that he wanted to make his cousin Idril his wife and was ready to kill not only her husband Túor, but also her baby son Eärendil. Now, looking at Elemmakil, he realized that he could never have lived for months, years, looking into the eyes of the one whose child he had killed.  
“Come on, I would not bother” Maeglin waved his hand carelessly, “Let him be, my children must have someone to play with - it's so boring here. Come to me, Elemmakil”.  
As soon as they stepped outside Melkor’s throne chamber, Elemakil asked Maeglin:  
“Maeglin... let my baby be fed... I beg, Maeglin, I'll do whatever you want...”

If Sauron assumed that Elemmakil would replace Turgon in Maeglin's bed, he was wrong.  
Maeglin's attitude to Turgon was complicated: envy, hatred, admiration, love, hopeless worship, the desire to possess and overpower; the desire to get rid of his uncle and of the influence that Turgon has so far had on his entire life. After Turgon left Angband, Maeglin felt something close to relief.  
Maeglin genuinely adored Elemmakil - adored from the very moment when, together with his mother, he first approached Gondolin. Elemmakil, tall and beautiful, appeared for the first time before him, and in his hand flashed a crystal elven lantern. Dreamlike kaleidoscopic splashes of colored light were reflected in his big bright blue-gray eyes, on his silver armor, on his long and heavy black locks, flowing out from under the silver helmet; sparkled in the folds of a blue velvet cloak. Maeglin wanted to bury his face in this cloak and hug this wonderful creature. “ _Stand! Stir not! Or you will die, be you foes or friends!_ " - exclaimed the commander of the Gondolin guard, and only at that moment Maeglin believed in the reality of everything that mother used to tell him - the wonderful hidden city, its austere king, gold and silver trees…  
Elemmakil embodied for him everything he loved about Gondolin.  
Sitting on the floor in Maeglin's chambers, curling up in a ball (as far as he could: Elemmakil was only an inch lower than his cousin Turgon was), he – puzzled and bewildered - watched Maeglin feeding the baby from a clay bottle.  
Maeglin smiled at Elemmakil reassuringly, just as he always did before: this familiar, unassuming smile, with dimples appearing on his cheeks, was so inconsistent with what had happened to this young Elf now.  
Elemmakil trembled, covering his face with hands. Some incoherent pictures flashed before him, like fragments of an absurd nightmare.

***

In the warm summer night for the last time he uttered these words: "'Stand! Stir not! Or you will die, be you foes or friends!"  
Elemmakil lifted the lantern - white moths where, as usual, flying about, - and the light came across something: the light at the same time pierced this something through – it seemed half-transparent - and drowned in it; finally, the light reflects off Melkor's body, disappearing into the cracks of the scars on his face.  
"How dare you order me," Melkor said. "How dare you. Take him. Take him alive".  
They seized him.  
It happened at the Silver Gates: Elemmakil was on the ground amidst the broken white flowers, the silver leaves of the silver tree that had been thrown from the summit and the pearls that used to adorn the gates were entangled in this messy, blood-soaked hair. The deep cut on the temple almost reached the skull, and warm blood trickled on his cheek and into his eyes. The silver chain armor was still on him, but below the belt he was already naked and Melkor said:  
"Well, now you'll have to open _your_ gates. Go on”.  
Elemmakil remembered how, a few weeks later, he begged Melkor to kill him; sometimes he seemed to agree, but it always was a lie. Sometimes Elemmakil was allowed to recover, wash off the filthy dirt, even to get dressed, but then it all started all over again.  
One day, he, hysterical with desperation, cried out to Melkor: "You’re just looking, you cannot do it yourself, is it?".  
A few days after the Battle of countless tears, Turgon had secretly sent Elemmakil and a few more warriors from the Guards on the battlefield in a hopeless attempt to find the remains of Fingon. It was a hot summer and Melkor's dragons had set trees and shrubs afire; the smell was atrocious. When Melkor squeezed his throat with his burned, crusty hand, when he did that what Elemmakil had inadvertently asked for, Elemmakil thought he had an intercourse with all this pile of dead bodies - not just with one, but with all, with all this fear, despair and disgust dumped in one place.  
It seemed to him that he was dying: finally, there was no more strength to scream, cry or plead. Elemmakil lay on the stone floor, naked and dirty; he heard the sound of heels, and Sauron came to him and bent over him; Melkor said:  
"I want to see him pregnant".  
“What for?” answered Sauron grudgingly. “It makes no sense”.  
"Well, you're doing it well."  
"Melko, he will die," said Sauron. “He's just going to die. This is a trial even for a healthy Quendi. Does this result suit you?”  
"I'll be pleased if he dies in _this way_ ," Melkor said. “Come to work. Find time for this. It will please me”.  
Elemmakil did not care now what would happen to him, and laying on the table in Sauron's laboratory while Nathron washed him, he dared to ask him:  
"People say you're sleeping with him. How can you? Are you not cold – or sick? Does it not feel disgusting?”  
Nathron went out; Sauron did not allow anyone to observe the process of change itself. And suddenly Sauron answered in a low, even voice - apparently, believing that Elemmakil would not survive this torment:  
“It is so now. It used to be better. Now everything has become very bad. Especially after Valinor”.  
Elemmakil understood.  
Sauron pulled out a glittering knife and twirled it in his fingers, snorting:  
“Clockwork – meh!.. It’s the bloody real thing. You will get pregnant and give birth like a good boy”.

***

Elemmakil conceived a child of his own accord, once again believing Melkor's promise. Melkor promised that he would be left alone for the time of pregnancy.  
This time he was not lied to: he was indeed _left alone_. He was completely alone in an oubliette – a solid stone cell without windows, lit by an eerie blue lantern, where food was brought once a day. Well, at least Nathron felt sorry for him and before Elemmakil was taken from the laboratory, gave him a long warm shirt - the cold did not torment him so much. Only once did Melkor came to him; Elemmakil then lay unconscious for a couple of days and was sure that the child was dead. However, the child in his womb survived; when he came to himself, Elemmakil sensed the horror and confusion that emanated from the baby. He remained completely alone during and after childbirth. Then they stopped even bringing food; he had nothing but his own blood to feed the child.  
And then he was told that they would give him to Maeglin.

"And who's the father?" Maeglin asked, not without sympathy.  
"Lomion, I do not know," answered Elemmakil. “I do not know. Some drunken scoundrel”.  
Elemmakil did not see him at all: he was blindfolded, his own face was hidden behind a mask, and he realized that the father of the child, too, had not seen him. Elemmakil knew that this was done with evil intentions, but at that moment he felt relieved: it was easier for him to do what Melkor demanded from him, without seeing someone else's face. When the man grabbed his hand, losing balance on the high bed, Elemmakil realized that the stranger was drunk and much stronger than he was. He did not know who it was: no one answered his questions, and he could only guess whether it was a servant of Sauron (perhaps Nathron himself or someone else?) or an unfortunate prisoner as himself, who was scared or tortured into becoming a rapist and, even worse, the father of a child whom he could not bring up.  
However, in due course Elemmakil understood how the man must have looked. The son to whom he gave the name Ringil was a very handsome and docile child, but outwardly, he had absolutely nothing to do with either Elemmakil himself or any of his relatives.

***

One morning Melkor appeared in Maeglin's rooms - to the utmost horror of Elemmakil. He was accompanied by several Orcs and Men; behind their backs Maeglin saw a familiar green shirt and cloak: it was Andvir, Sauron's human assistant.  
"Where's Turgon?" Melkor asked from the doorway. "They told me that he is not in Angband now".  
"But why, of course he is". Maeglin looked around. Elemmakil, who was huddled in a corner, pressing his son to himself, could hardly find the strength to say something; Sauron was not there, as was Nathron. Ëolin stuffed two cookies into his mouth and spat on the table, and Ëolet overturned a cup. Although both Ëols had a mind of an adult, now, in the presence of Melkor, they were quite convincingly behaving like children. Of course, it had to be so - but his father could not help Maeglin either.  
“What's this?” repeated Melkor. "Where's Turgon?"  
"Yes, I let him go wor a while," Maeglin shrugged. – “Outside for a walk. He was complaining that it was stuffy here. I do not know what kind of whim it is. Perhaps he’s pregnant again, who knows”.  
"You’ll knock the nonsense out of your uncle," Melkor said. "You can do it. I'll drop by later in the evening. And to you, Andvir, thank you”.  
When Melkor left, Maeglin collapsed on the bed.  
"Elemmakil, oh what a day! What should I do? I do not want him to return. Well, really, I do not want to. After this, he will hate me forever!”.  
"Maeglin, we must inform Gorthaur as soon as possible" Ëolin said. "I’ll go and get him".  
"I’ve never liked Andvir" Ëolet shook his head. “A good-for-nothing meanie”.

"Yes, a good-for-nothing meanie is the word" Sauron agreed. “The meanest one, I would say. Well, I am myself to blame”.  
"You're not going to bring my uncle back here, are you?" Asked Maeglin. It was impossible to understand whether he wanted it or not.  
"It would disturb my plans first of all," said Gorthaur. "And I do not like when my plans are disturbed," He stressed the word "plans".  
"But you can make a semblance of Turgon’s presence" Natron said. “You can, for example, make Elemmakil look like Turgon, they are so similar”.  
"It would be the best way out, Nathron," Sauron replied, "if there was no chance that Melkor would ask “where is Elemmakil?" What will we do then?”  
"Mairon, I do not understand," Maeglin interrupted. "We also have other Noldor here. Of course, I do not think I would fit, since I am much lower than Turgon, and I have a different figure, but there are some who could be mistaken for Turgon from a distance, especially if there is no one to compare as regards the height... "  
He looked apprehensively at Sauron.  
"I have achieved tremendous mastery in the art of charms and changing the appearance," Sauron replied, "especially in the last fifty or sixty years, when I had access to the Noldor libraries and the opportunity to interrogate the Noldor prisoners: I was able to add to my knowledge the missing fragments. I was convinced that I could deceive the maiar who possess the same or almost the same power”. A meaningful smile appeared on his face. “The Valar, however, are different. Yes, in principle, I can deceive a Vala, but our problem is the way the Valar and extremely powerful maiar - as I am, - perceive living flesh and substance; although, I must add, I think I'm the only one who uses this ability in practice - others just do not think about this. For example, if you put 100 identical nails on the table - forty-five silver nails and fifty-five iron nails, I can immediately tell how many of them and which ones are where. For the Valar, the bodies of humans and elves look about the same: they perceive them as a set of construction elements”.  
"Everyone has a skull or pelvis…" Maeglin shrugged.  
"Hmmm ..." sighed Gortaur. "Well, Gwathren", he turned to the one who was most likely to be able to understand him. “Suppose I look at you and your father. If we use nails as an example of a construction element, I will see in one case forty-nine silver and fifty-one iron nails, and in the other - forty-eight silver and fifty-two iron ones. The difference will be negligible. If I look at you and Natron, then Nathron will have, say, thirty and seventy. The ratio will be noticeably different. The example is very rough, the body consists of tens of thousands of elements, but the principle is clear. That is, if one of the Valar wants, he or she will see that it’s another body in front of him. Another thing is that it is impossible to remember everything and everyone; it is too much even for me or even for Melkor. You, Gwathren, I know to the smallest detail, and I would have distinguished you even from a twin brother. Another thing is how well Melkor remembers Turgon’s body – and Fingolfin’s, by the way; I think that most likely he had only a general impression. Elemmakil is not only physically similar to Turgon - he is his close relative, so he would be the best option. Although... Well, okay. In this situation, we'll have to go ... for some expenses. Gwathren, Nathron, come with me. Maeglin, here are the keys for you, go to my stable, take a horse and drive around three or four hours, pretending to be looking for your uncle. Come back at my signal, I'll send you a bird”.  
Maeglin sighed and put on his cloak.  
"Good job, Maeglin”, said Gwathren, laughing, "take a cookie out of the jar".  
"No cookies for me today, I’m afraid," He said dejectedly.  
"Have an apple pie than" said the blond elf, holding out a plate to Maeglin. "You did not eat anything today yet".  
***

After a quarter of an hour, Gwathren was not at all amused.  
From the cabinet of Sauron another secret door, of which Gwathren had not known until now, led into a deep cellar. Sauron opened the wooden door first, and then, one more flight below, a door of iron.  
Behind it reigned a monstrous, incredible cold; Gwathren felt sick. Nathron looked sympathetically at his friend and threw around his shoulders a warm cloak, which he carried on his arm - he did not dare to warn him in advance about where they were going.  
Strange globular lamps, similar to lenses, lighted the underground hall. In the glasses there was a cold, green-blue fire; it was not even a hint on heat. They could not see the whole hall, although it was clear that it was huge: the room was divided by wooden partitions into separate chambers, the entrances to which were protected by black, brown and red curtains. Gwathren, familiar with Sauron's methods of work, guessed that behind them were workplaces and collections of samples of different types - but which ones? A long passage between the curtains led them to the end of the hall; something like a scene was shielded by a huge brown veil with gold ornaments in the form of spirals.  
Sauron went to the curtain, then hesitated and approached the other curtain to the right and put it aside with a smile.  
"Those are the Noldor who froze when crossing the ices," whispered Nathron to Gwathren.  
Behind the glass lay several bodies. A young girl in a gray dress, curled up in a ball, calmly closing her eyes - most likely, froze in her sleep. A half-dressed youth with almost white braids and an expression of wild fear and despair on his face - what happened to him? Did he loose his mind and ran into the icy labyrinth?  
"How did you collect them?" Gwathren asked.  
At first Mairon did not answer.  
“There is a place from which the northern ocean can be clearly seen; there I waited for my Master", he said at last. “For centuries I used to come to a huge black rock: the ice sometimes reflected the blue and purple flashes of the silver light of Telperion from across the sea. "When Melkor returned, I continued to go there. If here came the glimpses of Valinor's Trees, I thought, here you can wait for a danger from Valinor. I noticed them approaching about a month before the Noldor reached the coast of Middle-earth. Then I walked back along their tracks almost to the northern shore of Valinor, collecting interesting samples. I found, by the way, a dozen or two books that they had to give up. Moreover, here is the best item in my collection, the one I acquired two days after I began to follow them”.  
Sauron again pulled back the black curtain, went to the "scene" and opened it. Before them was something like a huge mirror, one of those that may be seen in the royal palaces - one golden frame in the center and two lesser frames on the sides, only it was not a mirror, but a glass.  
There was night behind the glass. The sapphire firmament was dotted with stars; translucent ice blocks reflected the green and blue rays; pure and light snowflakes whirled in the air. About ten yards from them, towered a black rock with strange pearly scarlet veins; at its bottom lay huge ice shards - as if a mirror or a crystal ball broke. Sharp as a sword, an icy wedge fell down, piercing the elf in the snow; on his face the sticky, shiny scarlet blood seemingly froze: it gushed into the ice in a pinkish spray.  
"This is Turgon's younger brother," Nathron said quietly. “Argon”.  
He was as tall and thin-boned as Turgon, but he looked much younger; his eyebrows were thicker, and his lips - fuller than Turgon's. Long black braids were intertwined with threads of river pearls; clothes made of dark blue warm wool were embroidered with silver and sprinkled with faceted diamonds and opals that seemed to reflect the sky above. However, looking closer, Gwathren saw that the stars were different: the young man's clothes were embroidered with the “Sickle of Valar" - the seven-star constallation Valakirka; on the firmament in the world behind the glass, this constellation was absent; Menelmakar the swordsman was not on this sky, too. Lumbar, Anarrima, the blue Helluin, and a few strange pink stars that were not on the real northern sky glowed over this imitation of Helkaraxë.  
"Do you believe they walked through this ice in these clothes?" Gwathren asked sneeringly.  
"I sewed clothes with stars," Natron explained, "just to make it all look impressive".  
Sauron opened the side door and gestured for Gwathren and Natron to go inside. Here it was already obvious that the sky was not real - a vault of dark blue lapis lazuli, the stars turned out to be strange glowing stones, similar to the one that was stored in Sauron's office. Gwathren saw that the snow was spinning inside the glass room, not touching the "earth". Then he nearly cried out in horror, when he saw that he was standing on the ice, out of which a hand was sticking out. In the mass of transparent ice, the body of a young fair-haired woman in a blue dress and scarf was visible: it seemed she still tried to swim to the surface.  
"The Men like that," Gortaur said, not without gratification, seeing his fear – “before the two great battles we won, it was very useful to show them that Aracáno, the brave son of Fingolfin, whose name the Noldor calls his sons, was here, in my power. In addition, he's absolutely stunning, is he not? Not like some of his... well, okay”.  
"It's only his body," Gwathren said, "does it matter?"  
"It's not entirely true, my dear Gwathren," answered Gortaur. He reached out his hand to the ice shard that seemed to pierce Argon's head, and it instantly dissipated: it was not there, it was just an illusion; a trickle of blood on his face disappeared, too. Argon's temple looked like an old stocking: it was repaired with an interlacing of silvery wires. Sauron touched his head with his fingertips; some white and blue sparks seemed to come from them.  
Aracáno opened his eyes – large, gray, lighter than Turgon's. His lips moved, at first silently; then he said:  
“ _Atya ... atya ... ní ... eváquetië ... ilyë anyarië ... apsenë…_ ” *  
"What ... what does that mean?" Gwathren asked.  
"I do not know," Sauron shrugged. "I can restore certain bodily functions, but his brain is irreparably damaged. Apparently, it was so important for him that he can repeat it even without the participation of consciousness”.  
"I did not hear this phrase before," Nathron said, "only the "father" bit. Do you think this is connected with the murder of Finwë”?  
"Perhaps," answered Sauron. "But that does not sound like a confession of a murderer. He regrets that, having learned something, refused to do something and told somebody about it, or told it not to the one who should, or refused it tell it. It can be related to anything. In the end, the Noldor spent many months in the ice of Helkaraxë. He could feel guilty, for example because he refused to save someone. However, I have some very dramatic theories, too: for example, Maedhros could make indecent proposals to Argon, he refused, told his brother Fingon about this, and Fingon killed his own brother out of jealousy. Although it is not like Fingon, of course. Well, Nathron, take him and go upstairs”.  
Sauron jumped out of the scene that represented Helkaraxë and suddenly snapped his fingers with an almost joyful shriek. A black curtain flew open a few paces from them; Gwathren also shrieked - behind the glass wall there was a huge, black-green scaly creature with a huge bony frill and horns on his head: it opened its mouth that was big enough to house a Quendi of Turgon’s height. It seemed to be running into the hall, but in the next moment Gwathren realized that the monster was stuffed – yet another exhibit in Sauron’s collection. Beside the display window, Andvir was hiding: he apparently made his way here to follow them.  
Sauron immediately rushed to him and grabbed him by the collar.  
"Because of you, I’ll have to destroy such a fine exhibition, you jerk," said the Ainu. "I cannot believe it - did the Master promise to give you money for your games?"  
"Y-yes," Andvir said. "I must – I’ve lost the game twenty-three times in a row..."  
Sauron opened the box closed with a stone lid next to the glass sarcophagi of the frozen Noldor. There was an elf male with reddish hair, who had only half of his face; his chest was stitched after an autopsy, hands and feet were half absent - polar bears or foxes gnawed the body. For the show, of course, he was not good enough.  
Sauron hurled Andvir into this sarcophagus, slammed it and locked. From inside, a desperate knock was heard, but Sauron only grinned.  
"You’ve finally lost your game, my dear," he said. "I can try to unfreeze one of the Quendi, but you, a Man, when I open the lid next time, will only be good for dog food".  
***

 

"Come on, Gwathren, dress him quickly, take this Turgon’s emerald dress, that winter one is not good enough. Pearls in his hair, too, take them out, they’re useless, "Sauron ordered. "Nathron, take Argon’s winter dress and pearls downstairs, then we'll change someone and disguise him as Argon, with a dead body it will be easier. Gwathren, could you please be careful around the pearls – you’ve ruined the necklace. Maeglin, you're just in time, come on, quickly collect the pearls, the Master will be here soon”.  
“Who is this?” Maeglin asked in bewilderment.  
"Your uncle," Sauron snapped.  
“No, well, I mean, seriously, eh?”  
"Say hello to Uncle Aracáno: he will not be able to say hello to you, however, because he had his brain frostbitten in Helcaraxë”.  
"Well, well, well" said Maeglin.  
Sauron made a few nimble movements with his hands and fingers. Argon has changed; his loose hair became slightly less dense and long, the eyebrows became thinner, his face is a little more round. One more gesture - and Argon finally turned to Turgon. These were not only the physical features of Turgon: on the face of the youngest son of Fingolfin, there was now a mark of all the sorrows and torments that the middle one had to endure.  
Maeglin thought that changing the appearance of his uncle and his own, Sauron was not just preparing a masquerade, dressing up in someone else's clothes – it was a kind of theater that used makeup and costumes, and words and decorations, where the spectator was "deceived" not only by the actor, but also by everything that surrounded him.

Melkor saw what Sauron wanted: he saw Turgon dressed in an emerald dress embroidered with silver stars, limply dropping his head and hands; Maeglin, kneeling, took off his shoes and stockings, as if he had really just returned his uncle from a walk in the mountains. Melkor, approaching, hit him slightly on his cheek; the elf's head leaned back; Melkor squeezed his white throat with his fingers, as if he wanted to break it and then said:  
"Can you hear me, Fingolfin's son?"  
" _Áva carë... heca... a rehtië_... ** - Argon answered softly and plaintively.  
"Fine," said Melkor. He once again looked into Argon's eyes and said, turning to Maeglin: “Let him walk where he wants”.  
Maeglin rubbed his hands joyfully, as if all that had happened was entirely his merit, and turned to Sauron:  
“Well, maybe somehow... well…”  
"Well - what, Maeglin?" Sauron asked.  
"Well, maybe I can have some more children...," he looked around apprehensively, but Ëol was not here: Ëolin and Ëolet took the little Ringil to play, away from Melkor. Elemmakil at that moment was combing and plaiting Argon’s long, heavy curls.  
"Uncle Argon is ... well, he is out of his mind. It will be easy for you change him for...”  
Sauron turned to Maeglin. Nathron thought Sauron was going to scream, but he became livid silently. Nathron saw with horror the embroidered tapestries on the wall smoldering; a glass jug cracked and shattered on the table, the water in it suddenly boiling; finally, the medicine cupboard, which was set here once for Turgon, exploded; all room was filled with sharp spicy smells of herbs, alcohol and mold – the infusions had time to decay.  
"Maeglin ..." Sauron began.  
"Mairon," said Gwathren with a smile, "Mairon, listen: I, of course, understand that you are an Ainu, and Maeglin is an idiot, but under this roof, apart from the two of you, there are other intelligent beings. If the whole tower collapses...”  
"Ah, yes," grumbled Sauron"of course. Of course. Well, Maeglin: one more word on this topic - and you will never be able to have any children at all. Do you understand me?”  
"But why, what did I say?" Maeglin looked around in bewilderment. Nathron stared in terror. “But you…”  
“Because enough is enough! Elemmakil agrees with me, I can see it in in his eyes" Sauron remarked. "Although... if we have also Argon... it would be interesting to make a third brother pregnant... well, it would be curious just on a trial basis... I wonder if there would be, for example, nausea, and to what extent... If it's all about parents being closely related... or vice versa... But then for the experiment's sake one would have to bring in a stranger as a father, a Sinda, for example”. After those words of Sauron, Maeglin looked apprehensively at Gwathren, who gazed at the ceiling with his innocent blue eyes. “In general, Maeglin, it's just not interesting to me anymore. You can understand this answer. By the way, why don’t you have Elemmakil?” – Elemmakil, hearing these words, shuddered and dropped the comb; when he reached out for it, he felt an urge to to stay under the table. "Elemmakil and you may have children”.  
"No," Maeglin cried pathetically. "I only need my uncle. No one understands me!”  
Maeglin tried to slam the door and get out, but noticed on the table a plate with remains of the apple pie and took it with him so his departure from the scene did not look as tragic as he would have liked.  
"Hmm", said Sauron, "you are lucky, Elemmakil, that Maeglin is so messed up as regards elven pedigrees. He does not even remember that you are Turgon's cousin, and, as a matter of fact, his uncle as well. By the way, Gwathren, I authorize you: if Maeglin is not able to keep his hands in his pockets, you can break a couple of chairs against his head”.  
“Why?” Maeglin popped into the room again. “It's nothing...”  
“Because, firstly, I'm sick of the thought that you will have fun, and secondly, you do not know how to please yourself anyway. And I do not like useless body movements”.  
"All right, I’ve got it", Maeglin answered. «Elemmakil, can we go and have a supper with our children?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Daddy... daddy... I refused... I told everything... I’m sorry... (Quenya)  
> ** Do not... stop it... save me... (Quenya)  
> “Stand! Stir not! Or you will die, be you foes or friends!" are Elemmakil's words from the Lost Tales, addressed to Voronwë and Túor. I suppose it was a Guard's standard address to any newcomer.


	29. Celegorm's Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celegorm meets his child and the child's mother, and Sauron wonders if Celegorm's hair - and the silvery color of Míriel's hair - may be a clue to Finwë's life and death.

After the return of Maeglin to Angband, Ringil joyfully rushed to the two Ëols. Elemmakil also was delighted to see the boys, but he became very anxious when he saw that Argon was not there.  
"Maeglin, where is Aracáno?" Elemmakil asked.  
"It does not matter," said Maeglin. “In general, I decided that he’d better stay with his relatives. Well, I mean, not with me. Well, that is, with his other relatives. Actually”, - Maeglin rubbed his hands, smiling happily, - “I have good news for you. Your child's father will now live with us. Is it not wonderful?”  
Elemakil wanted to say something; protest and object, but his reason told him that everything was useless. He and Ringil had nowhere to go. To escape from here - from the chambers of Maeglin, one of the most guarded parts of Angband - was impossible, and even if they could get out, he and the boy would at best face the fate of outcasts.  
"Maeglin," Elemmakil said softly, "but you will not let him to torment my son, will you?"  
"Of course not." Maeglin was surprised. "I love Ringil, and he's such a good boy, no one would want to harm him. Do not even think about it”.  
***  
Maeglin showed Celegorm to the half-open door and said:  
"Well, here they live."  
Celegorm took a few moments to notice Elemmakil. He was sitting on the bed; his skinny hands were folded on his knees, his dark hair, cropped just above his shoulders, had a few grey strands.  
"That's how they made fun of us, Elemmakil," Celegorm said.  
Elemmakil looked at him. All he wanted to say to the one, who was supposed to come here, was now out of his head. Celegorm put on a black robe and chain mail, such as the ones worn by Maeglin’s retainers; pale, his dull silvery hair flowing, he seemed an embodiment of ruthlessness.  
"It means I was with you then," Celegorm continued.  
"Please ..." Elemmakil said to himself that he would not stoop to beg for his son, would not abase himself, but the fear for Ringil gripped him, drowning out all other feelings. "Please... whatever; everything you want, but not in presence of the boy”.  
"Here, probably, he already had to see a lot of bad things," answered Celegorm. He paused and said: “Did we... do you actually have a child by me? Can I see him?”  
"Yes," said Elemmakil. His heart was heavy, but he knew that it would not be possible to avoid this meeting. "But you... I beg you. He's just a little boy, Turkafinwë, he did not do anything wrong…”  
"I am not able to harm a child," Celegorm said dryly, "you need not be afraid."  
Elemakil led Celegorm to the end of the corridor and down a small, five or six steps staircase. Here was a workshop owned by Maeglin. Now the Ëols were in charge here: the boys gave their directions to Maeglin when he was instructed to do something.  
Celegorm entered the workshop and halted. His son was cautiously twisting something with tongs; Ëolin helped him, suggesting the direction of the next movement.  
Celegorm thought that he saw himself as a small, diligent boy in his father's workshop, a boy who got up early and ran to do what Fëanor asked him to do before he woke up. Ringil had exactly the same silvery white hair tied in a ponytail, the same gloomy look, - and the same grey-green eyes. Ringil looked up at him; he observed his father timidly and at the same time obviously was joyfully delighted: he, like almost every child, wanted to have someone close to him who was big and looked like himself. The boy turned his gaze to Elemmakil, standing behind Celegorm behind him and was checked: he felt the tension and fright of his mother.  
"Ringil," Elemmakil forced himself to say, "this is your father. Now he will live... here with us”.  
The boy did not answer: he did not know what to say, so as not to anger and upset Elemmakil.  
"Hi," Celegorm finally said. “What are you doing now?”  
"I'm doing a pattern," the boy replied. "It will be a decoration for a shield."  
"Can I see it? What will it be? Filigree? Good work. Will you be able to solder this yourself?”  
"I'll help him," grumbled Ëolet, who at that time was just trying to lay a filigree pattern out of individual silver leaves and twigs.  
"It's difficult," Celegorm shook his head. “The boy's fingers cannot cope with such a delicate work”.  
Both Ëolin and Ëolet looked at Celegorm with an ill-concealed aversion. For both, their own body was an eternal annoyance, and even the fact that youth is a temporary flaw did not console Ëol. Both twins preserved memory and skills of the adult Ëol, but the hands of a teenager so far often could not cope with operations that required strength or perfect coordination of movements, and Maeglin, according to Ëol, still sometimes lacked the dexterity.  
"It's good that you are learning this," Celegorm said, "but you probably still need to do something by yourself from beginning to end. Shall I show you? Would you mind?” He asked Ëolin and Ëolet.  
"Come on, I'm interested, too," Ëolet said.  
Celegorm asked to give him a leather apron and stood next to his son. Elemmakil was struck by the extent to which they were similar; he was even surprised that he himself, knowing how Celegorm looked, had not yet guessed who the father of the child was. Ringil sometimes beheld his mother anxiously: was Elemmakil angry with him? Elemmakil forced himself to smile, letting the boy know that there was nothing to be afraid of. After a while, he went out to bring the children their meal, as usual; returning, he still found Celegorm with his son at work.  
"Do you indeed live here?" asked Ringil.  
"Yes," answered Celegorm.  
He looked into the pantry with a small window, where some pieces of old armour still lay: most had to be thrown out a few years ago to make room.  
"Yes, here I live," he said. “Does anyone mind, if I use this room?”  
Ëolin and Ëolet shrugged.  
"Of course," Ëolin said, "just mind you, we come to the workshop early and start work in the morning."  
***  
Elemmakil started to come to the workshop more often: he was worried about his son. However, Celegorm was polite and friendly, albeit somewhat disconnected. Elemmakil was surprised when he observed that both Ëols forgot their dislike of the Noldor, constantly asking Celegorm questions and repeating his techniques.  
A few weeks later, Elemmakil noticed that the son and Celegorm had some secret talks which ceased in his presence, and that Ringil was locking his work in the locker. One morning, peering into his room, he saw Celegorm and Ringil, and on his bed - something brilliant and iridescent. Elemmakil came closer: on a simple gray blanket there were a diadem, bracelets and necklace – they looked very odd against the rough felt. Lacy filigree, sparkling with soft gleams of silver, was strewn with diamonds. Elemmakil thought bitterly that this silver crown should suit his hair, now almost gray.  
“Put it on! Put it on, please!” asked Ringil.  
Elemmakil was embarrassed: he put the diadem on his head; with difficulty, he pulled the necklace over the diadem, slipped his thin wrists into the bracelets, and straightened his hair. Ringing rushed to him and hugged him; he said softly:  
"Mummy... there is no one more handsome than you!" - he knew that Elemmakil did not always like it when he was called that, although he could not understand why: but he still really wanted to say it. Elemmakil felt a lump in his throat; he could not answer, just sat down and put his head on his son's shoulder.  
"This is what my father and I made together," continued Ringil. "I put all the stones on the bracelets myself. You like it, don’t you? Ëolin and Ëolet also helped me a little”...  
"Thank them for me, Ringil. Let me change, this dress is not appropriate for this jewellery”, - said Elemmakil at last.  
The boy ran out of the room and Celegorm said:  
"I completely agree with my son," Elemmakil realized that he meant _there is no one more handsome_. “Today, if you remember, is Ringil’s day of conception. I understand that for you this may be not a joyful day – not quite joyful, of course. But I love my son, and I'm very grateful to you. I just wanted to do something nice for you, Elemmakil”.  
Celegorm fell silent and seemed to be waiting for an answer.  
"I want to tell you," answered Elemmakil, "you can come here. You can share a bed with me. If you want to”.  
“What for?” Celegorm asked.  
"You probably do not feel comfortable living there in the pantry," Elemmakil said. “I understand we will come to this anyway”.  
Celegorm did not say anything to him at first; then he answered – very constrainedly:  
“Thank you. I'll bring my belongings here. I do not have many”.  
“May I come in?” shouted Ringil from behind the door.  
"Just a minute," answered Elemmakil.  
Elemmakil changed his clothes himself (Maeglin, though reluctantly, gave him several things made for Turgon) and opened the door. Ringil was delighted: the boy dragged him to Ëolin and Ëolet, then to Maeglin.  
There Elemakil looked in the big mirror; indeed, the diadem was beautiful, but he had not seen himself for so long that he hardly recognized his own face. In hindsight, he was frightened: he remembered, of course, what he had to endure, but it was one thing to remember, the other was to see how it was affected his own face, exhausted, white, as if forever frightened. Now Elemmakil began to regret that he had agreed to lie with Celegorm; he realized that despite the captivity, the need to endure the society of Maeglin’s, the fear for his child, he had for the past few years already forgotten the worst. Now he will have to endure it again: somebody else will use his body.  
In his room, he saw Celegorm’s coat and the small bag with his belongings hung on the coat rack. Celegorm himself went out somewhere and returned only by night. Elemmakil turned away; heard him lay down beside him, saying:  
"Good night, dear Elemmakil."  
And nothing more.  
"Mmm... what is it?"... - Celegorm woke up and realized that it was not in the pantry inside the workshop, but somewhere else. Then he remembered that yesterday he had moved into Elemmakil’s room. "Good morning, dear Elemmakil," he muttered; He felt Elemmakil easily moving his legs over him, rising from the bed. He opened his eyes; it was completely dark outside the window.  
"Good morning," answered Elemmakil. Celegorm saw that he was kindling a fire.  
“What?” Celegorm asked. “What time is it now?”  
"Four in the morning," Elemmakil said.  
“Why? ...”  
"I always get up at four in the morning. Always”, he replied. “When I was in the outer guard of Gondolin, I got used to get up at this time, when I was on patrol. Sometimes earlier. Well, I went to bed late. I generally slept about five hours – not more. The habit has remained. But Ringil, of course, I wake up later. Will you eat now?”  
"Aha," Celegorm replied. "But it's... it's crazy early."  
"Why early? Well, you yourself have to be early for a hunt, I presume. Were you called "hasty riser" for a reason?” Elemakil asked.  
"Well..." Celegorm said. “Well, hunting sometimes was... if you need to hunt. I got up at home early... well, at nine o'clock... eight ... In general, early... Well, in comparison with my father, of course. He often was late; he was awake till five in the morning, then he went to sleep – and we woke him up at three o'clock in the afternoon... Elemmakil, why are you laughing?”  
"Forgive me," Elemakil could no longer restrain his laughter and Celegorm saw him sinking into a chair, covering his mouth with his hand. "Well, do not be angry... It is just... well, I just thought that all your nicknames make sense if you add " _in comparison with Fëanor_ ”. You are a “hasty riser” by comparison with your father, Maitimo is “well built” – and so on…”  
"Well, yes," Celegorm chuckled, "you may be right. And Curufinwë was "like his father" in comparison with our father – with Fëanor, too; my father was not very much like my grandfather, Finwë...”  
Elemakil put a pan on the fire.

***  
Ironically, the question of the similarity between Fëanor and Finwë at the same moment excited somebody else.  
Sauron threw open the door of Maeglin's rooms without knocking. Maeglin was fast asleep, but both Ëols were awake; they also slept little. Ëolet read a book; Ëolin devised a scheme for some intricate detail.  
"I need to talk to you," Sauron said.  
“Yes?” answered Ëolin. Ëolet kept reading.  
"I've been wanting to ask you for a long time, but I've postponed this conversation until you grow up," Sauron began.  
“Why? Is this conversation not for the children's ears?” Ëolin asked scornfully.  
"You know that I'm not a child and I remember everything," Ëolet said.  
"That's right," Sauron agreed. “But I still think... you see, you can still preserve some features of the child's perception and could now incorrectly convey to me or understand the things you, as far as I know, once witnessed”.  
"Ask," said Ëolin; his hand, without stopping, was drawing lines with a compass, plotting complex curves of the pattern.  
"When your son first came to me, he told me exactly the following: "Finwë... he did not just become a king... because he was an envoy to the Valar... It was Míriel... she gave... well, you understand... she offered... something to someone". Did you mean something specific, or was it just a delusion of jealousy and you thought it all up because your friend Nathron taught Miriel sewing?”  
Ëolin stuck the leg of the compass into the table, piercing a sheet of paper; the compass swayed, but the device still stood, hanging over the drawing.  
"Why do you need this?" Ëolet asked, closing the book angrily.  
"Let's just say I want to know more about Fëanor and Finwë," Sauron said. “Here, my interests, one might say, partly coincide with yours”.  
"I understand, but why?" Repeated Ëolet.  
"You really know that I'm interested in the Finwë’s murder," Sauron said. "They say that to catch the murderer, one needs to know more about the victim”.  
"Very well," said Ëolin. His hand continued to rotate the compasses mechanically. "But I... I can not say that I made it all up, I just... explained it in a certain way. Maybe I really did not quite comprehend something. Mairon, have you ever seen Finwë?”  
"I think not," he replied.  
"He was beautiful," Ëolin said. “Dazzlingly beautiful. If you saw Fingon, you can imagine his grandfather. True, Finwë was taller and his eyes were darker. Finwë and his sister were always hunting, and he then did not think about getting married, although he had already reached adulthood. Many girls tried to attract his attention, but Míriel tried most. She learned to sing and play a harp (Maglor got his musical talents from her, I think); she learned to cut gemstones and decorate her clothes - yes, Mairon, Fëanor inherited her interest in stones from her. Finally, she came to Nathron and he taught her to embroider pictures, sew elegant dresses, and make bead embroidery, using glass beads. Míriel spent days with Nathron; she learned how to sew the same way as he did. Despite her wonderful clothes and ribbons, Finwë did not seem to notice her. When Finwë went to Aman as an envoy from the Elves to Valar, she abandoned everything - songs, and clothes, and embroideries. Míriel walked along the far shore of the lake; she took a harp with her, and sometimes I heard her pulling strings. Strange were the sounds, Mairon: beautiful melodies are called "music of heavenly spheres", and listening to what she was playing, it seemed to me that the stars were coming off their tracks. When there was a rumour that Finwë was returning, Míriel disappeared for a whole month: when she came back, she wore clothes of the colour of the dawn sky, studded with pearls, and her hair was intertwined with bands with opal beads.  
Mairon snorted sceptically.  
"But Finwë did not even look at her," Ëolet continued. “She came to Nathron. He helped her to make this outfit - all month long. All this time... it was very hard for me to look at it - I almost did not take my eyes off them, although I knew that Nath would be angry with me; and then I began to spy on them. Míriel was screaming at him, saying that it was all his fault. Nath said that all this was his finest work (it was true, I think he still had not created anything like this) and that one could not command another’s heart - he knows it better than anyone else. I was very happy... I wanted to rush to him... you understand me. Nevertheless, Míriel left him in such a murderous state of mind that I became frightened. I was scared for Finwë himself and for his parents - they were our friends, and they have not yet recovered from grief after the death of their only daughter. If Finwë’s sister had survived, Finwë would hardly have gone to Aman - his sister loved her native land. And I went after Miriel”...  
Ëolet became silent. Ëolin looked at him, but he did not want to continue either.  
“So what?” Mairon asked impatiently.  
"Míriel came to a grove on the far side of the lake," Ëolet said. “I felt there was some kind of glow and... heaviness in the air. There was something as if emanating from a Vala. Maybe not one. But I could not see who was there. I saw only a dark cloak. Perhaps it was a woman. One of the Valier”.  
"Who could it be?" Mairon asked insistently.  
"Not Varda," answered Ëolin. “All the Firstborn Elves know her well. Well, not Melkor - I've been here long enough, in his presence, to know what he is. Not he”.  
"Do you want to be a queen?" - that's what she asked Míriel”, said Eolet. "Do you want to be the queen of those who are called Noldor? You will no longer be hunters of the dark forest and fishermen on quiet lakes; you will become a people, and you will need kings. Instead of a ribbon, you can put on your head a golden crown, covered with opals and rubies; you will live in a city crowned with a silver tower, and you, like a tower, will rise above your kindred". That's what she said, and I still hear that voice”.  
"I'll do anything," Ëolin said, and now he sounded like Míriel: his voice was thin and desperate. "I have a royal heart, I will go with Finwë to Aman and there I will become a Queen of the Noldor."  
"You will have a son," said a voice between the trees, "that's what you have to do for us." Ëolet spoke so ingratiatingly and at the same time so penetratingly, so that even for Mairon, for a moment, it became frightening. "You will give birth to the best and most skilful of the Quendi, the most wise and beautiful. After all, there is nothing wrong with this, Míriel ... Queen Míriel?"  
"They say the delivery is very painful," Ëolin said. Now, in his lips, Míriel's voice sounded plaintive. "But I'll endure it if Finwë really will be mine."  
"It can be much more painful than you think." - Mairon thought that then, on the shores of the Lake of Awakening, Ëol could not convey these words. Only now, after living for millennia, having died a terrible death and returning to life, he was able to give to his voice the prudent, cold cynicism that sounded in that speech. "The body of one of the Children of Eru may not stand it. But I can help you. Your handsome son will be born in Aman; a fiery spirit will burn in him. Are you ready?".  
"Yes," she answered", Ëolin continued. "Mairon, I do not know what happened next. Honestly, then for a while I thought that there was you, because... I felt as if some wind was coming from under the earth. What a strange smell, how... how... " Ëolin and Ëolet exchanged glances; Ëolet sharply shook his head. “I do not know how. Then the glow disappeared, I lost Míriel from sight. In fact, Mairon, I do not know what to think, because the Great march of Elves to Aman lasted for many years, Fëanor seemed to have been born already in Valinor - he could not have been conceived that night, and Míriel was speaking to a woman... Still... after all this, I hate to think about Fëanor and his descendants. Honestly, I'll tell you, I would not take Fëanor’s daughter or Míriel’s granddaughter for a wife”.  
"In general, we have an unintelligible conversation about unknown matters, vague suspicions, and a girl whom the Valar probably helped to get Finwë," Mairon said.  
"Yes," said Ëolet. "They helped. After that, he noticed her”.  
"Because," said Ëolin, "before that, she was black-haired, like all the girls from the Second House of elves, and after that her hair became silver”.


	30. Married Elves and Fake Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sauron speculates about the possibility of artificial insemination among the Elves (who would want such thing, indeed?). Celegorm discloses to Elemmakil his feelings and his hopes.  
> A new character appears: Sauron is not the only one who can master souls of the deceased.

_Even when in after days, as the histories reveal, many of the Eldar in Middle-earth became corrupted, and their hearts darkened by the shadow that lies upon Arda, seldom is any tale told of deeds of lust among them.  
On the laws and customs among the Eldar_

"A great story," Sauron laughed. "But you are obviously mixing things up".  
"I told you what I saw and heard," Ëolin said.  
"I saw and heard what I told you about," Ëolet said.  
"You see, Ëol", Sauron said. "For me, there’s a problem. For example, Miriel’s hair has turned gray after an unpleasant conversation with this Valië. But why her grandson Celegorm has the same white-and-gray hair, and, incidentally, Celegorm's son, Ringil, too? Fëanor was black-haired, in his wife Nerdanel’s family, as far as I know, there was not a single white-haired Quendi. Obviously, Celegorm inherited the colour of his hair from Míriel”.  
"But she... she turned gray," Ëolin said.  
"Ëolin, forgive me, but it's sheer nonsense," Sauron shook his head. "If you suddenly became gray when you were young and unmarried, your son Maeglin would not have been born gray. If I took a part of the skull off you, and then put it back and sewed it up, your son would not have a scar on his forehead. Such things cannot be inherited”.  
"How do you know what can be inherited", Ëolet shrugged. "After all, if Fëanor was..."  
Sauron waved it off, then suddenly jumped up and pressed his fingers to his forehead.  
"Although ... although... I could not do this, but Melkor probably could... because it could have been... If it was just an outward manifestation of the... wait..."

He ran out of the rooms of Maeglin and flung open the door to the room of Elemmakil and Celegorm. They had breakfast, and Elemmakil almost choked on the eggs.  
"Celegorm," Mairon asked, "does any of you have a lock of Míriel’s hair?"  
Celegorm looked at him in bewilderment.  
"I do not know," he said finally. "I definitely had it, but I'm afraid I left it at home, in my belongings. Probably, everyone has it - after all, on behalf of my father, we all visited Míriel in the gardens of Lorien. There could be somebody else, a relative... I personally did not care, but I know that other brothers sometimes came there with a friend, because it was unpleasant for them”.  
"Well, we'll look," Mairon nodded.  
"Have you moved here now, Celegorm?" - Maeglin stuck into the room with these words. "Elemmakil, does he upset you? If anything, tell me”.  
"Why do you care," Celegorm said through clenched teeth. “Get out”.  
"No," said Maeglin. "I brought you here because Ringil needs a father. A boy at this age does need a father. Beyond that, nobody here ever wanted you”.  
"I came here on the orders of our Master", Celegorm said. “It was not you who brought me here - you, dirty, ugly pest of a mole, you kinslayer”.  
"Seems like someone changed his tune!" answered Maeglin. Here, in Angband, he almost learned to control himself; his face did not change, but he stood up straight and pressed the door handle hard, so that the tree beneath it cracked slightly. "I think you are in no way better. If you want to know, Celegorm, when I gave you the last errand, I have made up everything I’ve said about Finduilas – so that you imagined that you had an order to kill her. Therefore, if it were not for me, you would not be here right now. After all, in fact, no one ordered you anything like that, isn’t it, Mairon?”  
Maeglin got really angry, otherwise he would not have addressed Sauron in that tone and would not make his fabrications known. Sauron, of course, did not particularly like Maeglin, but he also did not like the fact that Celegorm had allowed himself to assume a noble pose.  
"If an Elf does not kill the brothers, but spies on them, then who is he?" Sauron asked quietly and mockingly. “A crystal pure white eagle? I myself did not want to believe, that you serve my Master: Gwathren guessed this, because the Master somehow learned what only the Noldor princes could know. We excluded Turgon, Fingon and all the sons of Finarfin, naturally, too, so only the sons of Fëanor remained. Moreover, when Gwathren brought Finduilas to you, we were finally convinced of this - you contacted the Master immediately, the same evening. In fact, Celegorm, I did a favour to your brothers, taking you out of the game with the help of Maeglin. It seems to me, at least Maedhros did not deserve...”  
Celegorm squeezed the fork in his left hand, circling it around his finger, so that it was hopelessly bent.  
"Although he may have deserved it," said Sauron dryly. "Ah, Gwathren, and we were just talking about you. Come on, Ëol told me something thought-provoking, I'm curious to know your opinion”.  
Maeglin glanced once more at Elemmakil, smiled reassuringly and left, closing the door. Elemmakil felt uneasy about the fact that now Maeglin was his only protection. He pulled himself together and asked:  
"Turkafinwë... you did not touch me today... but in the future..."  
“No. Of course not. Never”. Celegorm turned away, panting; he turned red and could hardly speak. "After what I did to you... When I came there... I did not know who you were, but I swore to myself that I would try to be a good father to my child and a good helper for you, whoever you are. I am grateful to you for the offer to share your bed. I feel very lonely. Of course, there will never be any marital affairs between us”.  
"Thank you," Elemmakil said.

"Well, Gwathren, that’s what Ëol told me," Sauron spread his hands. “I do want to hear your opinion - at least your opinion as a Quendi, because I do not really understand how it all is compatible with the Elven customs”.  
"You know, it's all very odd," Gwathren replied. "If we assume that Míriel indeed agreed to conceive a son by someone - and the conversation, as it seems, was just about that – how we can bring it into line with her subsequent marriage to Finwë? Elves do not do this: as far as I know, before Finwë, whom Míriel abandoned, suddenly passing away, no one was married twice. Even if we assume that her subsequent relationship with Finwë was a chaste one, how did she explain to him how the child came to be at all?”  
"You see," Sauron said thoughtfully, "there is still an option. One day, a long time ago, a local Elf came to me and asked if a Quendi woman could have children without marrying a man. Melkor was in Valinor than, so I had time to think about such issues”.  
“Of course, formal marriage is not necessary...”  
"No, no, Gwathren, it was just about having children by someone who had already made an engagement and was married to another woman."  
“What for?” Gwathren asked.  
“I do not know, but I studied this question, and answered her “yes”. As far as I understand, the connection that is formed between the spouses is of a corporal nature, and not in the purely sexual sense of the word, but in the most straightforward way. With loving Elves, this kind of connection is formed very quickly: sexual relations contribute to its development, but are not absolutely necessary. After the consolidation of the connection, a close relationship with someone else will be unpleasant and agonising to such an extent that it can lead to death: this is how the natural Quendi relationships of different sex partners work. With same-sex relationships, this cannot happen, and I'm very interested in what comes about regarding those men whom I made partly women. I did not mind removing Turgon from here when you and Nathron suggested this, but I'm still curious – would he die if Maeglin raped him after his union with Penlod, or not? After all, in fact, now Turgon the man and Turgon the woman are two different Elves: one is unfortunate lone widower and the other a happy mother. Therefore, Gwathren, before Penlod, Turgon the woman was a blank page in this respect: he agreed to give birth to a child - it was _just to give birth to a child, and nothing more_ , without feeling, of course, the slightest love for Maeglin. Then I told that woman that if an elf-woman, who does not have a lover, just gives birth to a child, then most likely, it would not interfere with her further relationship with another partner. Especially if the seed of this man gets inside her not by the natural way, but artificially, no love connection between them can arise. I guess that…”  
"Wait, what do you mean by “artificially”? Gwathren was surprised.  
"I mean, my dear Gwathren, that you do not necessary have to use the male part of your body to deliver the sperm: you could work with your fingers, or something else”, Mairon chuckled.  
Gwathren’s face was stark red, not only his ears, but also the neck under the waves of golden hair. “That's the way it goes”, Sauron continued. “It is possible that Míriel went for something like that. In Aman it was even easier to do this: after all, at first it was necessary to marry Finwë - then the question of who was the father would not have arisen”.  
"Look, what kind of woman asked you about this? Why did she have to do this?"  
"Yes, indeed," thought Mairon. "It was a Sinda woman from... wait... Oh, yes, you’ve met her: it was Melian's maid, who became Elwing's nanny. You saw her when you helped Elwing leave Doriath. Here it is. It's unlikely that this woman had anything to do with Míriel... Although actually now I should find out why she needed it and who wanted to give birth to a child of a married Elf. Eh, I shouldn’t... well, all right. Still it is necessary to find out. It begins to seem to me that this is important”.  
***  
Once after dinner Celegorm left Maeglin's rooms without saying goodbye, and although Elemmakil experienced some relief - their relationship was still strained - on the third day he began to worry. Ringil only once dared to ask where his father was, but Elemmakil knew that the boy was missing his father and afraid for him, too.  
Ringing fell asleep beside him; they were awakened by shouts and noise.  
Elemmakil ran to the staircase, where from a small window one could see the part of the courtyard where the horsemen had arrived. Celegorm, tall, straight as a pine, was on a huge black horse; the scarlet flames of the torches, fuming in the cold, pre-dawn wind, were reflected in his black armour; his white hair sparkled gold and silver. He was surrounded by a detachment of black-clad soldiers, mostly Edain. Celegorm waved his hand, ordered something: Elemmakil saw that he was obeyed without questions.  
Elemmakil ran to his room and sent his son to another room. A few minutes later Celegorm entered and stopped hesitantly.  
"I guess I'd better take it off in the workshop...”  
"No, I'll help," Elemmakil said, and began unbuckling Celegorm’s armour. He flinched at the sight of bloodstains on his fingers.  
"It's not my blood," Celegorm said somewhat haughtily. “Do not be afraid. I... went on instructions from the Master”. He freed himself from Elemakil's hands and sat down, taking off his boots.  
“What was your errand?” Elemakil asked, although he did not want to know.  
“Last winter I was instructed to execute an Easterling priest, who refused to consider our Master a god. He had followers. I dealt with them. Unfortunately, his son – his name is Belemír - managed to escape, he is not found yet. But this is not my problem, Mairon’s investigators work on this. May I lie down here?...” he asked gently.  
"Of course," answered Elemmakil.

When Celegorm did not get out of bed in the morning, Elemmakil did not pay attention to it at first. Then, towards evening, he realized that he was still lying. Elemmakil looked at Celegorm. He was dressed in a simple gray shirt; He tied his hair in a thick silvery ponytail and now seemed completely innocent and helpless - so similar to Ringil.  
Celegorm looked silently at the wall; approaching him, Elemmakil noticed how pale he was; his forehead and hands were wet.  
“Turkafinwë... Tyelko”. Now Elemmakil called him so for the first time, although, of course, in the old days he called the sons of Fëanor their maternal names, which they preferred. "Are you sure you're not hurt?"  
Elemmakil remembered that yesterday he had caught a glimpse of his scars, left by recent, grave, but already healed wounds, apparently received a few years ago in Doriath, but he did not notice any fresh injuries.  
"No," Celegorm answered. “Do you need something?”  
"I'm just ... just worried about you," Elemmakil said.  
Celegorm looked at him disbelievingly.  
"Nothing to worry about," he replied. "I'll rest and recover myself. It just hurts a little. I'm tired”.  
Elemmakil left the room, and a few minutes later, he returned with Ëolet. Behind them Maeglin appeared. He was very curious to get a look at all this: Ëol made him work in his forge since childhood, but the father was reluctant to share his knowledge of medicinal herbs with anyone, even with his son.  
“Where does it hurt?”, Ëolet asked.  
“Nowhere, it’s does not concern you”, said Celegorm.  
Ëolet unceremoniously ripped off his blanket; Celegorm did not have time to protest, as the teenager's thin, but strong hands and fingers sensed his whole body, touching his throat, his eyes, pressing on his heart, other vital organs; he slipped his hand under Celegorm’s back and felt the spine and the sacrum.  
"Your back is fractured and there are other internal injuries," Ëolet said. “How can you walk at all?”  
"The Master helps me," answered Celegorm.  
"It would be better if he helped you to heal your bones," Ëolet snorted. "Celegorm, do you understand how this can end?"  
“It's better not to ask our Lord about this, he is not really good at it. Once he... "Maeglin intervened, as always, at the wrong time.  
"Shut up," growled Celegorm, raising himself on his elbows.  
"Shut up and bring me the blue bottle from the locker," Ëolet said.  
Maeglin obediently brought an aesthetic; Ëoleth explained to Elemmakil how Celegorm should take it, and he forced the patient to drink. Celegorm remained in bed and was silent all the time. At night, when Elemmakil lay down beside him, Celegorm looked at him with such gratitude that Elemmakil wanted to cry.

***  
"Listen..." Elemmakil turned to Celegorm. He knew that, probably, it was not good to ask such things, but he could not resist - all this time he really wanted to know. “You probably did not want to be with me then... Did they tell you that they want us to have a baby?”  
"Yes, they forced me," Celegorm replied. “Forgive me. I must obey all the orders of the Lord. I had no choice”.

Celegorm was ready for the fact that he would have to kill the innocent and unarmed, possibly even kill women and children, but he was not ready for that. He just was not capable of this. Celegorm looked at the body stretched before him, a body that endured weeks of torment and mockery; the body, that was opened in the most secret place, to turn it into a woman's. Celegorm had a good memory: he probably could, having thought, to recognize the prisoner, looking at his hands, outlines of his sides, thighs and legs - but he forbade himself to remember; he did not want to know who the unhappy androgynous creature was before. Especially now, when he himself had to become another instrument of torture.  
"I can not," he said hoarsely. He felt sick; despite the fact that Melkor made him stand, the pain from wounds and fractures did not disappear. The first hours of fervour and euphoria after several months of helpless immobility ("Can I really go again? Can I really go, go anywhere?") changed into a dull, tiring, endless suffering.  
"You have your orders," Nathron said coldly.  
"I can not," Celegorm repeated.  
"You can, you handsome," replied Natron mockingly. "Is it your first time?"  
"Of course," Celegorm said in a subdued voice. "Did you think otherwise?.. I... I can not do this." Why shall I beget this child... I cannot. And he... he also does not want...”  
"He agreed," Nathron said. "They promised to stop the tortures, and he agreed. He had no other choice”.  
Celegorm was silent.  
"If I do this, would they really not torture him any more?" he asked at last.  
“I hope so. Help him”, Nathron said softly. "He's not guilty of anything".  
"I... I'll try," Celegorm said. "But I'm not sure if I can".  
"Have a drink," said Nathron. “Have more. It will be easier”.  
When he returned home to his brothers, he was so ill that for some time he even hoped to die. It did not happen, but every day he remembered his first and only beloved.

"I'm sort of..." Celegorm continued. He realized that he probably did not need to say this, he understood that he was talking nonsense, but he wanted at least somehow to justify himself. “I did it. At least I knew what to do, unlike my brothers. My father told me how everything about... well, marriage”.  
“Is it?” Elemmakil asked interestedly. “Why you?”  
Elemmakil was not only the cousin of Turgon and Fingon’s, but also a close friend of Fingon. Even though Fingon was not very open with him, he understood that Maedhros was not just a friend to Fingon, and Elemmakil assumed that Maedhros hardly did not know anything at all about sex, but did not say anything. Elemmakil himself was always lonely, he had no personal plans, and his ideas about marriage were confined to a number of frank conversations with his beloved sister, whose marriage was very short and ended very unhappily.  
"You know, I was going to marry Aredhel at one time".  
"Yes, I heard such rumours," Elemmakil said cautiously.  
"At one point, it seemed as though we wanted to make an engagement. I asked my father to tell me everything, as they usually do after the engagement. My father and I talked for a long time, not once. Then I decided that it was not needed. Was afraid somehow. I thought that I could not... I could not be a good husband. I did not love her enough to become one". He blushed slightly. "Friendship is one thing, marriage is different... Maybe I was – I am – not fit for marriage".  
"And what about..." Elemmakil paused; he decided that he should not raise the unpleasant theme of Luthien, but Celegorm answered.  
"I do not know," he said. “At the moment, I sincerely believed I was in love with her. It was all at once – I fell in love – I thought that I should marry to become Thingol's heir – it was flattering that her mother was a Maia, and not just a Quendi woman... I just really wanted my wife to be the best one, the one that no one else has. However, this, I think, is in fact even for the worse; I realized this now”.  
“Why would it be worse?” Elemmakil asked.  
“Well… Maiar in general are reasonable beings, but some, like balrogs, for example, or Ungoliant, are not more intelligent than we are, and they live alone. Some associate themselves with a Vala or a Valië, and live as their master or mistress taught them. They do not have families or children – as far I know. Well, what this kind of mother, like Melian, can teach her child? Can she prepare her daughter for marriage? Well, imagine, if Sauron had explained to me how to live with a wife, what good would that be?”  
Elemakil agreed: yes, nothing good.  
"Of course, I will not say anything bad about him," Elemmakil realized that he meant Beren, "he raised his son well; his son has two sons himself… he had…”  
Celegorm was obviously very embarrassed and fell silent. Indeed, it would be odd for Celegorm to praise Dior, whom he (as in was generally believed) killed with his own hands, for the fact that he had two sons, who again, thanks to him, disappeared without a trace.  
"In any case," Celegorm said at last, "the Ainur is not like us: they can leave their husbands or wives."  
“Why do you think so?” - Elemmakil was surprised at the idea.  
"I've always been interested in the principles of marriage," Celegorm said. “I've read about it all that is possible; even looked at some works written by Men. Just think about it: the Men become adults after twenty years of age; we need fifty. How much does an Ainu need? After all, when the Ainur came to Arda, they were, you might say, newborns: yes, they existed from before time, but they came to this new world like little children... I'm not sure that at that moment they were capable of meaningfully choosing a life companion!”  
He sighed, and Elemmakil saw that Celegorm was falling asleep.  
"You know," Celegorm said drowsily, "I always imagined... Even when I was a boy, when men do not even think about the family... I dreamed that once I would have a wife, a nice, bright home... that I will have my own people, my children... and...”  
"…And nothing happened," Elemmakil thought with sorrow. "You got me. Poor thing".  
Elemmakil took Celegorm’s hand, and he fell asleep, pressing Elemmakil’s fingers to his cheek.

***

Celegorm was right that Sauron would certainly find the son of the Easterling priest.  
This young man was called Belemír, and now he was at Sauron's workplace, in the rooms below, in the basement that served for tortures and experiments.  
"I've been waiting for you, Belimír; you are my welcome guest, "said Sauron.  
"Thank you," the young man replied with dignity. He straightened up, thrusting his hand into the wide belt with which his plain gray shirt was girded; on the belt hung a large purse embroidered with feathers, pebbles and yellow animal teeth.  
"Here," Sauron pointed to the table where the tortured body of a blond Elf lay - a bloodied face, hair torn out with chunks of skin, fingers cut and broken... “How do you like it?”  
"I like it," answered Belemír. “Wait”.  
He went to the table and reached for the purse; took out a little bit of reddish powder from there, snapped his fingers over the white forehead of the deceased.  
"Do you understand that the powder in fact is not obligatory?" Sauron asked.  
"It's partly necessary," the man said, and began to make some very inhuman sounds that seemed to have flown simultaneously from his mouth and nose.  
A scream escaped the Elf's throat; he sat up, crouched, pressing his crippled fingers to his eyes, - the eyes that were not there.  
“Where am I? Where? What it is? I can not see anything!” He groaned. "I can not see anything again! Please stop it!”  
"Shall I stop it?" Belemír asked.  
Sauron silently made a gesture with his fingertips. Belemír made the same gesture with his fingers, a little wider; particles of scarlet powder fell on a lifeless lump of black feathers lying on the table beside them. The big black bird fluttered its wings and screamed.  
Sauron came up and squeezed the desperately quivering bird in his hands.  
"Now you can see well again, do not you? I wonder how you see. When I turn into a bird, I see the same as I usually see, but what do you see? You, an Elf, will have to learn to speak at least in this form, because when you were an intelligent being, you preferred to remain silent. Fine”, he said, turning to Belemir,"it would be a pity to lose such a talent as you are. "You say that your father tried to do such things, did he not?”  
"I tried," replied Belemír. "You left some of your books behind on Tol-in-Gaurhoth; my father bought them for a lot of money. Father used me as a mediator when summoning spirits: many rituals require the presence of an innocent little boy. However, I started doing the same thing myself - and I'm doing better. Much better”.  
"All right," Sauron nodded. "Now, while you're working for me, you'll be safe. But you'd better not leave my quarters without my permission”.  
"All right," said Belemír. “I do not even need to. There is everything I need here”.

Three months later, Sauron allowed Belemír to descend into another cellar - the one that was accessed by the staircase in his office, where the laboratories and operating rooms were located, where the frozen bodies of strange animals were stored behind the glass.  
Belemir listened to the explanations of Nathron, who gave him instructions; he mechanically nodded, remembered, but did not take his eyes off the huge display case where was the body of Aracáno, the son of Fingolfin (now a fake) and the body of a woman enclosed in the ice. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another display case, a row of boxes containing the bodies of frozen Noldor. He tried not to look there, but his heart was pounding - fast, continually, like a mouse’s.  
"Finally," he thought, "at last I am here. I will do it. For the sake of my tribe. There is no other way out. "


	31. Sorcerer's apprentice (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The soul of an Elf was called by a young necromancer... and the dead Elf has an extraordinary story to reveal.

In the cold dungeon, only one blue lamp was lit, flickering dimly. However, Belemír already knew the way. Reaching the end of the hall, he knelt down and lit a green lamp that he brought with him. The young man easily lifted the stone lid and peered inside. When Sauron locked Andwir here in his fridge, fate was merciful to the Easterling: in despair, trying to get out, he hit his head hard against the lid, and when he breathed his last, he obviously was unconscious.  
"Uncle Andvir," Belemír whispered. "So he's indeed here."  
The affairs of the relatives of Belemir who lived in the North of Hithlum did not go well. The death of his father Androg was only the last blow. Of the house of Ulfang now, he was almost the sole survivor. All the others died in civil strife, were killed by their own slaves or concubines or died of drunkenness; in the bloody squabbles over the remains of the kingdoms of Fingon and Fingolfin, not even babies, not to mention women, were spared. Other Easterling princes also died, leaving no offspring: Brodda was killed by Túrin Turambar, the cunning Lorgan and his eldest sons were poisoned by a young wife. Sauron may have tried to establish order among the Easterlings, but Melkor openly expressed his disapproval of this: they were his favourites, and it seemed to him that the more the evil and slaughter increased, the more the people of Hithlum shall suffer. This was partly true, but after the Battle of the Countless tears, two generations of Men had already come: many children were born in forced, miserable, but still mixed marriages.  
Androg and Andvir were not particularly fond of their relatives. Their mother was a daughter of Borlad of the Bor’s house, faithful to the Eelven kings, and Androg's son Belemír was born of a local woman from the house of Hador the Gold-haired. He inherited slanted eyes and sharp features from his grandfather, Ulfang, son of Uldor, and from his mother - snow-white skin and golden hair. However, among the inhabitants of Hithlum, Androg at first enjoyed a good reputation: ordinary Easterling warriors considered him a true leader, and local people reluctantly acknowledged that Borlad's grandson was not as bad as the rest of them. Androg was smarter than many of his friends: he read books, asked old people about ancient times, knew not only Sindarin, but Quenya as well. Then he began to tell his fellow tribesmen that Melkor was of no use any more: the plundered riches had been squandered, one could only dream of peace, reconciliation and prosperity. Even when Androg declared his intent to worship the other Valar and began to offer bloody sacrifices to Oromë and Nessa, as his ancestors-Easterlings once did, before they come to Melkor, the locals did not turn away from him: on the contrary, he found many followers.  
Belemír could assume that the day when the ominous messenger of Melkor (now he knew that it was Celegorm) left on his threshold Androg’s headless body, all his hopes were lost. In fact, he felt that his father's venture was not going to end well. Belemír did not disapprove the human sacrifice as such, but he just could not believe that this could attract the attention of the Valar. Even if Oromë long ago granted strength and good luck to the children of the Noldor and other Elves, he did not necessarily have to respond to the call of the Men. Moreover, it was difficult to win the love of the population this way. Even if only children of slaves were will hanged on a tree and drained of their blood: slaves were often the local people who could not pay debts, were homeless orphans or just inadvertently killed a prince's horse or dog.  
If Androg died a few years later, it would be easier. Now Belemír was too young: as a leader, he would not have been accepted. His father had many enemies... Now, if only Uncle Andvir was home! The elder brother of his father, clever, experienced, who served Sauron for more than fifteen years, knew many secrets. Belemír only met his uncle a couple of times, but he made a lasting impression on the nephew.  
He and his father had not had news of Andvir for a long time. After the death of his father, hiding in the forest, Belemír saw on the road Gwathren, who came to them with Andvir once. Since Gwathren was alone, Belemir dared to approach the Elf and ask what had happened to his uncle.  
Gwathren replied:  
"I am sorry, young man, but your uncle is no longer alive. Mairon executed him for disobedience”.  
Belemír froze; then he pulled himself together and asked:  
“How? What was the reason?”  
“The reason you do not need to know. How? Well, he locked him in the freezer in the basement, where he conducts his experiments. I hope your uncle’s death was quick. Do you want something else?”  
"No," said Belemír, and rushed back into the forest. He helplessly sank to the snow, covered his face with his hands.  
Then he got up and went to his forest shelter. Within a week, he had memorized his father's books by heart. If it had not been for the frost, his house would have been easy to find - corpses of animals and birds were arranged around the rows. In the pink sunset rays of the winter sun, Belemir again and again shouted spells. Sweat hail from his forehead: at his feet, in a terror, he tried to fly, at the feet of his hare, into which he imparted the soul of a raven.

Belemír took a desperate step: he decided to come to Sauron himself, knowing that sooner or later he would be found and assuming that he would want to put his skills to his service, and maybe, in time, and help restore his father's property. While his assumptions were partly justified while talking with Sauron, Belemír realized that Sauron in fact was against the execution of his father and during the interview, he strongly disapproved of the chaos that prevailed in Hithlum.  
Belemír was dreaming that, maybe, he and his uncle would be able to unite around themselves the people of Hitlum - both the Easterlings and the local Edain. The young man hoped secretly that his uncle knew some important secrets of Sauron, or even of Melkor himself, and on learning it, he could dictate his conditions to Sauron. First, it was necessary to return Andvir to life.

With the reddish hair of Andvir and the water drained from his clothes. In the magical lamps of Belemír, ground oil burned, and the yellow, scarlet and green spots of light poured in the puddles of moisture on the marble floor. Belemír took out from behind his bosom a magic blanket covered with children's simple ink drawings; looking, you could see that they depict the heavenly spheres, the stars dormant in the abysses of monsters and descending into the underworld of the luminary. In addition, he drew a new drawing on the floor; He threw a scarlet powder into the large green lamp and several dried leaves and bones.  
Quietly, but piercingly he turned to Andvir:  
"I call you, the spirit of the deceased; I call upon the name of a great, inexorable deity; come to me this night; take the form that you rejected. I call on you in the name of the Destiny of all Fates, come back to me, be with me night and day!  
Belemír touched the golden sceptre of the eyes, ears and mouth of Andvir; he repeated:  
"O spirit inhabiting the air, I call upon you; Come, hear my words, look at me, answer me! Bring this body to life! Let him get up and talk to me!  
Signs inscribed on the veil mixed with the ink of the blood of human victims seemed to begin to glow with a dull green light.  
Then Belemír uttered the final words in Valarin:  
“AÞĀRAIGAS! PHANAIKELŪTH! AKAŠĀN! (The Sun, the Moon, He spoke!)  
Andvir’s blue, bloody fingers moved; a sound come out of his chest. At first, it was just a flat, almost silent visceral howl; then it turned into a groan of an excruciating, inexpressible pain. Belemír recoiled: even for him it was something hard to hear.  
Finally, Andvir opened his glassy gray eyes: warm tears streamed of his cheeks.  
"Uncle?" Belemír asked in the native language of his father and grandfather.  
Andvir looked at his nephew – he was obviously scared and baffled. Belemír reached out to him and gently touched his sleeve with a soothing gesture. He thought that his uncle could have forgotten the language of the Easterlings and said a few words in the Edain language spoken by the people of the house of Hador.   
He finally understood and said:  
“Man natyë, atan?” (Who are you, mortal?) - asked Andvir.  
Belemír was taken aback for a moment. He could not understand why Andvir answered him in Quenya, the ancient language of Noldor Elves, in which not all of them spoke now.  
However, he thought quickly and did not build illusions. What a fool he was! This means that he evoked the spirit of one of the elves lying here in the chambers of Sauron. He also knew that although Sauron could manipulate the souls of mortals, it was much easier with the elves - they did not leave Arda forever, leaving by the Path of Men.  
Belemír looked around. Who could this person be? A frightened young man with light-blond, almost white braids, looking like a Sinda (well, not, more likely he was a Teleri, since he, as Sauron said, came with Fingolfin from Valinor)? A tall red elf, whose mutilated body rested beside Andvir's body? A black-haired Noldo with a gentle face and long eyelashes, whom the Helkaraxë ice floes almost tore in two? After all, the body of Andvir not necessary was possessed by a spirit of a male Elf: maybe the young girl in a gray dress or the ice-covered blond woman in a kerchief was now talking to Belemír. And it could be that the body of this Noldo was not there, in the room, at all: the Elf's spirit could come here because he or she desperately yearned for one of the dead relatives whose body lay here. Belemír remembered that during their last meeting a slightly drunk Andvir told him in a terrible secret, whispering: in his personal chambers, in his collection of rarities, Sauron was keeping – or so they say – the body of a stunningly beautiful Elf, the one he never shows to anyone...  
"Do you understand Sindarin?" - quickly asked Belemír (he was able to read Quenya, but almost could not talk).  
“Andvir” nodded uncertainly.  
"I brought you back to life," said the young man. "We need to get out of here soon."  
Elf-Andvir tried to bend his knees, to smooth his hair; he looked at his hands in horror, squeezed his ears with his hands, tried by the tips of his fingers his nose and lips. He rushed to Belemír, trying to grab his hands in fury, but was still too weak and stretched out on the wet floor.  
“What is it? What happened with me?” He groaned. “What? What did you do to me? It hurts... it hurts everywhere... It's not me. Not me. I'm not like that. It's not me. Why?!”  
"I did not want to," said Belemír. "I called your spirit into the body of my uncle." - Belemír touched Andvir's chest; the heart was beating weakly and slowly. Most likely, Andvir’s body could move and talk only because the strong and fiery soul of a Noldo came into it; a man, if he could indeed call a Man’s soul, he would have been unconscious for a long time or would not come to his senses at all. Belemír feared that, moving sharply, the elf would damage the body of Andvir. He hesitated: to try to run away alone or to finish that what he started.  
"I really need to bring back my Uncle Andvir," Belemír continued. "If you help me ..."  
Then blue lights shone over their heads. Belemír shrivelled, grabbed a useless dagger, ready to meet Sauron's furious gaze.  
But it was only Nathron.

***  
"I have not seen you for a long time, Andvir," Nathron said. "Were you allowed to go out from there? Why are you looking at me like that? Get up. Belemír, pick him up and put him in a chair, I can not talk to a man who is lying in a puddle on the floor”.  
Belemír saw that in one hand of Nathron there was a throwing knife, in the other a long, thin dagger sharp as a knitting needle. He had to obey.  
“What is my name?” Nathron asked, looking into the eyes of Andvir. “Who am I?”  
"I do not know you," he answered in Quenya. The large light-gray eyes of “Andvir” first looked around the whole room, and he, apparently, realized where he was. "I do not know you, Morgoth's servant, and I do not want to know you."  
“Who are you?” - asked Natron, stretching out his hand and aiming the point of his thin dagger directly on Andvir's throat. – “Answer!”  
"But you see that this is my uncle!" Nathron, I beg you..." Belemír exclaimed. He believed that Nathron could be placated by his begging. In the end, Belemir really needed his uncle, and the unknown elf could be persuaded or intimidated and forced to represent Andvir. “I’ve managed to revive Andvir… he is my only kinsman. He is not himself yet. Please, let us go...»  
Natron fumbled in his purse at his belt and took out something in his fist. Then he stretched his arm above the table in one sharp motion. There was a dry knock.  
“What is it?” Nathron asked sharply. “Look! Answer me!”  
“It’s… dices... bones...” - said Andvir.  
“Bones? Just bones?” said Natron mockingly. “Dices? This, my dear, is a "crown" - a combination of "three-three-four." Do you know, Belemír, how your uncle Andvir happened to come here? He killed his father and your grandfather, Ulfang the younger son of Uldor, who did not give him more jewels to lose. Andvir emptied his ancestors’ treasury, lost everything in two days, and then went to Tar-Mairon. He lost everything. Do you want to convince me that seeing the "crown", Andvir would say that these are just "dices"? He remembered the terms for tosses and combinations in any condition. Okay, boy, come on; confess whose spirit you’ve called. Perhaps I may help you”.  
"I do not know," answered Belemír. He knew Nathron, and he already understood that now honesty was the best policy. "I wanted to revive Andvir and I’ve got this person... he... probably he's a Quendi".  
“Who are you and what is your name? Where and when were you born, who are your parents?” Nathron asked.  
“Why do you care?” Replied the elf-Andvir. There was despair in his voice; Nathron himself experienced horror and disgust, trying for an instant to imagine how he would have felt if he was in a human body. "I... I'm in Angband, right?" Nathron nodded. "In the most terrible prison in the world, I am inside another prison, the worst one possible. Now I'm tied to this body... like ... like a sticky wet leaf that was pinned to a porch by the autumn rains. I'll turn into mud or I'll be blown away by the cold wind. Why do you need my name?” Tears came to his eyes. "You'd better kill me again".  
"Belemír, step away. I said - away!” Nathron said. “Listen, you. It’s useless to try to escape from here: Mairon will find out about what happened here and find you both. Moreover, he will wrest from you your name, and everything that he wants to know about you. The human body is weaker than ours is, but Mairon has learned to treat it with sufficient care, so that under torture you will not die for a long time. But I'm betting (the real Andvir, surely, would have made a bet long ago) that Mairon will be interested in this case. I will try to help you get out, but you, Belemir, and you... Andvir, I will call you so - we must conduct ourselves very cautiously”.  
Nathron leaned toward the elf-Andvir, put his hand on his shoulder and said in a very low voice:  
"Follow me. I’ll tell you something. I'll teach you what to say, and what to do. Do as I tell you, and you will have at least an opportunity to survive. Maybe Mairon will even try to get you back your own – or, al least – an Elvish body”.  
***  
It was one of those few cases when Sauron did not know whether to get angry or to get excited. He was in a good mood, and the second intention prevailed: he decided that Belemír must stay alive and must be allowed to investigate the problem further.  
"I would punish you immediately, Belemír, but this is a very interesting experiment," Sauron said. "I have not tried to install an elvish fëa into a human body. And you did it. I must then ask you more... Now get out».  
When Belemír left, Sauron told Nathron:  
"Nath, make sure they take him into custody for now. So, Andvir... Andvir - what's your real name? What's your name?” Sauron repeated his question in Quenya.  
"My name is Aldamir," he replied.  
Sauron rose abruptly, took the elf-Andvir by the hand and dragged him to the long box containing the bodies of the Noldor.  
"Which of them are you? Show me. Which one is Aldamir?”  
“Andvir” pointed to the body of a young elf with very fair complexion, linen-coloured braids and an expression of horror on his face, dressed in just one ragged shirt; than he turned away and convulsively bent: he tried to vomit, but apparently his stomach was empty. With an effort, he straightened and looked around with agonizing perplexity. The pain and faintness that he felt in the human body were unusually bad. Gwathren, taking him by the arm, helped him again to sit down in the armchair.  
"That's right," said Sauron. "This boy’s name was Aldamir. And now tell me about yourself...”  
Elf-Andvir told Sauron the year and the place of his birth, the names of his parents, listed the names of his friends, mentioning, among other things, that he studied with the children of Fingolfin. He answered correctly the "control" questions that Sauron had in mind, the answers to which only a close friend of Fingolfin’s family could know.  
"All right," Sauron nodded. "Now explain why you attacked your king Fingolfin with a knife, and then ran away in one shirt and froze to death".   
"I... I was not myself," he replied. – “I do not remember. I was not myself all the time”.  
“Since when? Have you lost your mind during the journey or have you already been mentally ill? Do you realize why you are mad? Mentally ill elves are actually very rare, and I have always been interested in your case. So I would like to receive an answer to my question”.  
"I had not been myself for many years before," answered the one who called himself Aldamir.  
Sauron leaned back in his chair and looked into his eyes. He could not stand it and looked down.  
“Tell me how it was. If you want to stay alive, even in this body, you must be frank with me”.  
"I..." he finally said, "it's very difficult for me to talk about this. I can not tell you much. It's just that ... I was raped. Back in Aman”.


	32. Sorcerer's apprentice (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Nathron (and Penlod) a likely motive for the murder of Finwe is discovered. Who could be the murderer? The suspicion falls on Fingolfin...

“Raped? By whom?” Sauron asked abruptly. "When? Who did it?”  
"I ... I do not know," the elf in the guise of Andvir replied.  
"What nonsense! Someone fucked you, and you do not know who it was?” Sauron slapped his hand on the table.  
"I... I was at a feast in Fingolfin's country house on Tol Eressea. That is, the house belonged to Fingolfin and Finarfin together. Teleri King Olwe and Vanyar King Ingve have built this house to please the queen-mother Indis. Fingolfin and Finarfin lived there as children with their mother and then their children often spent the summer there. It was a celebration in honour of the end of the school year. I was invited by Aracáno, son of Fingolfin; we were sitting in the academy on the same bench. We were all together, the parents left; I drank a lot - everyone did; I remember that one of the twins - the sons of Fëanor plaited the string from the curtain in the Finedicáno’s braid, and when Findecáno tried to get up, a wooden bar, on which the curtain hung, fell, and Findecáno nearly broke his nose. I wanted to go out into the street, and here, under the stairs, someone grabbed me by the elbow from behind. He said to me very softly: "Do you want more wine? Let's go down to the cellar". There was no light in the hallway. We descended, he supported me from behind; when we arrived, he extinguished the lantern. He closed the top door, and there, in the cellar, was pitch dark. He lifted the cup to my lips and I felt drunk... very tasty, this vine was not at our table... it was so very sweet, thick, it smelled of cherries, and I said to him: "How sweet." And then he pressed me to the wall, put one arm around my shoulders, he pressed my thighs to mine and said: "You are sweet. You are the sweetest thing in the world". I was completely drunk, could not move, and he... he began to take off my pants. I could not understand anything, and I told him: "Why do you undress me, I do not want to sleep... I'm not going to sleep here in the cellar," and he replied: "You will not sleep." He began to touch me below the waist, then sat me on his thighs; I said - "What are you doing, there are women for marital affairs!" - and he told me - "A woman did not give me what I can take here." He took me; I always felt this sweet smell... nasty... all my body smelled of cherries. Then he dressed me and left, I stayed there... In the morning I woke up and left; I did not talk to anyone in the house”.  
"It's crazy," said Sauron mockingly. “After that you did not get any offers from him? And from anyone else? He did not make himself felt?”  
"No," answered the elf-Andvir.  
"All right," said Sauron. "You shall not repeat your story to anyone".  
"I do not want it myself," he said.  
"So," said Sauron to his assistants, "most likely it was an adult, a married elf - judging by the fact that the woman did not give to him what he wanted. That is, Feanor, Fingolfin, Finarfin, or, perhaps Curufin. They say that Maglor had a wife for a while or something like that, so that could be him: in this case, most likely, he just dropped his wife quickly when he realized that it was unpleasant for him to sleep with a woman. Of course, if he preferred such intercourses, not every woman would go for it. But I think, most likely he meant something different...”  
"But it could have been Melkor himself," Gwathren said unobtrusively.  
"No, my dear, it's unlikely," laughed Sauron, "but you see, Melkor can be surprisingly attractive when he takes on the face of an innocent young man just entering life. I think that this hero-lover from the cellar has just tasted such joys in his bed, and then, when our Master found himself another toy, he felt lonely. All right, Andvir, - I'll call you "Andvir", do not be offended - rest, come to, and there, maybe I'll have an errand for you... as for Andvir. And there will be a few more questions. And if you're being honest with me and behaving yourself, I can try and get back your elven body ... eventually, of course, when it's worn out”.  
***  
When Sauron came out, Gwathren suddenly grabbed a ball of thread from Nathron's table and tossed to the elf-Andvir, exclaiming:  
“Mana i óma?” (What is a vowel sound?)  
That instinctive movement instantly intercepted him and replied:  
“Lerina thúle” (free breathing).  
"If you want to continue to impersonate Fingolfin's companion," Gwathren said, "then learn never to pronounce th in place of s. Lerina súlë, and nothing else. I agree, during the conversation with Mairon you did it well, but you can still be caught”.  
“And what's the matter?” Nathron asked. “I myself say the same”.  
"Nathron," Gwathren replied, "you speak it because you're a First-Born and all the elves first spoke like that. It is well known that in Valinor almost all the Quendi began to pronounce s instead of th, and only Fëanor and his associates stubbornly continued to pronounce th in all these words. I do not know what kind of rubbish he was telling you, but he is a Noldo from the house of Fëanor”.  
"How do you know?" The elf-Andvir asked angrily. "Why are you, a Sinda and Morgoth's servant, asking me questions from a Noldorin handbook?"  
"All the Quendi have heard of Fëanor," said Gwathren. "And if your fëa indeed left your body five hundred years ago, then you should learn that now almost no one speaks Quenya, but many Elves - not only the Noldor - are learning from the books of the sage Rumil throughout all Middle-earth”.  
"Was this Fëanor completely crazy?" Shrugged Nathron. "Why could not he talk like everyone else? One just will not be understood”.  
"Fëanor wanted his mother to be called Míriel Therindë, the Embroideress, as she was called in her lifetime," Gwathren explained, "and not Serindë”.  
"The Embroideress… a big deal!" Nathron grumbled. "It was I who taught this Míriel everything that she knew. All the Noldor are crazy - and Fëanor, that clung to this th, like a mad dog, and the rest - for no reason at all they began to talk in a different way! No, I understand it, of course - because I myself, if I had some customers’ orders, I’ve signed the papers with my own name - Hollen, I do not really like Nasron either...”  
"Listen, you," Gwathren turned to the Elf-Andvir, slapping his hand on the table. "I really want to know why you told all this nonsense about a rapist in the basement to Mairon, if you can not be Aldamir. Where did you get all this?!”  
Nathron got up and pulled the ball from the hands of "Andvir".  
"Sit here and wait” he told him. "Gwathren, let’s come out for a talk".   
He gestured to his friend to the door in the far corner of the room.  
They approached the door, and Gwathren said:  
"Why should I believe you?.. Look, if something happens to me, you will not go unpunished”.  
"I have no evil intentions, Gwathren: let me explain everything to you, I beg you. We're still friends!”, Nathron said. “Although, perhaps you not consider me your friend…”  
"I do”, said Gwathren. "I think very few people would care for me and treat me like you do. I was Mairon who ordered you to care for me after I… visited his dungeons, but you did it as a friend”.  
"Let's go," said Natron.  
They walked down through the sequences of rocks; lower, after the layers of grey granite, strange luminous crystals began to flash around them; the stone became scarlet, blue, and mauve; sometimes small mirror-like splashes of ore shone in the stone. The two elves finally came to a tiny room with violet-blue walls; on one of the walls there were strange, slightly glowing mother-of-pearl-blue patterns - spirals, snakes, lines, stars: they seemed to rush on the surface, flee in different directions, as if the one who inscribed them, desperately tried to express something unspeakable.  
Not a single word that was said in this room could reach anyone - Melkor, Manwë or Varda - except perhaps Eru Ilúvatar himself. Mairon has already made sure of this several times and sometimes used the room to give instructions to his most trusted servants. Once Mairon explained to Gwathren that the walls of the room were the wreckage of the great lamp of the Valar, Illuin, built long before the appearance of both Elves and Men. The signs on the walls were a writing that the Valar themselves used, and which, as Mairon confessed, was unknown even to him, although, of course, he spoke Valarin, the language of the Valar. At such moments, Mairon's voice changed dramatically: for Nathron it was terrifying, and to Gwathren something in this voice seemed very strange, wrong - he could not understand what.  
"Listen, Gwathren," said Nathron, sitting down on the stone and placing a lantern beside him, "I taught him what to say to Mairon. I do not know who he is, probably, he is really a Noldo and a follower of Fëanor - but it was me who told him this whole story about the holiday, the cellar and the cherry wine”.  
"Why did you invent such a thing?"  
"I did not invent it," replied Nathron. "I heard it from Penlod".   
“What do you mean?” Gwathren was genuinely surprised. "Did this all happen to Penlod?"  
"No, no," said Nathron brusquely. "It really happened with this Aldamir boy, only Aldamir told this to Penlod, and Penlod told it to me".  
"I do not understand" Gwathren said. “Why? It all seems too complicated. Why not to tell the story to Mairon as it was?”  
"You see," Nathron began with difficulty, "you know... when I was with Penlod... I asked him if this was the first time for him. Penlod answered - "well, almost". I asked how it was "almost". He said that there was one who tried to abuse him – who harassed and almost raped him. Of course, I was surprised, and asked if it was really a common case among the Noldor. Penlod said that, of course, it was not customary, but… things happened, and that he had a friend who was raped before the departure of the Noldor from Haman. So he told me this whole story, because he was Aldamir’s friend and Aldamir complained to him. Penlod himself, when he was harassed, was not drunk and did not sleep, and he knew very well who it was, but he himself did not want to say it, and I did not ask”.  
"Are you sure that Penlod remembered everything correctly?" Gwathren asked incredulously.  
"You forgot that Penlod is the brother of Pengolod, the greatest scholar of the Noldor," replied Nathron. "He has a wonderful memory, he copied and corrected hundreds of books for his brother, and he could remember whole pages by heart. I'm sure he repeated the story of Aldamir word for word, and I do not have memory problems, either”.  
"Why all this again, Nathron?" Gwathren asked. “Why all those complications? Why was it necessary to persuade one Noldo to impersonate another?”  
"You do not understand," said Nathron. "Gwathren... I... I'm very sorry about Penlod, really. I think about it all the time. I should not have done this. Should not have forced him to sleep with me. I even do not feel so guilty about Ëol because of this, although technically I’ve cheated on him with Penlod. Ëol… I'm still angry with him, it was his fault as well as mine…”.  
"Well, yes," said Gwathren, "now you do not even look at him – at them, you do not go to Maeglin’s..."  
"No, Gwathren, that's not the point," Nathron said. "I just do not want him to see me until he's grown up. I want him to make a choice when the time comes. I want him to decide whether he loves me still or not”.  
"And if they both love you?" Gwatren laughed.  
"Oh, I do not know." Nathron smiled. "One Ëol was problematic enough to live with!.. You must understand that I will be ashamed for all my life because of Penlod. And what if I tell Mairon that Penlod very probably knows who killed Finwë? He will never be left alone; they very probably will bring him back. Mairon will never let him go: Penlod will always be needed as a witness, even if the killer is caught and executed. I do not want to hurt Penlod any more”.   
"Does he know who killed Finwë? But they could not... Do you think this is connected?...”  
"Oh, Gwathren, wake up," sighed Natрron. "Sometimes you are just like Ëol: then you scold Fingolfin and Fingon for indecision, then you call the sons of Finarfin cowards; you were the first, before Mairon, to realize that Celegorm was serving Melkor - and you hate him because of this. And now again - "No, no, it can not be, the Noldor are not like that, they can not...". Yes, all can do anything, if only they have enough mind and conceit. It's as simple as this: one day this rascal, who dragged Aldamir into the basement, put his hands into the pants of someone who would not stomach this and told Finwë about it. Then he killed poor Finwë, so that he could further put his hands on young men and drag them to his bed. The Silmarills were only a cover”.  
"And who's... the killer, do you think?" Gwathren asked.  
"In my opinion, the conclusion is obvious," Nathron said. "It was either Fingolfin or Finarfin – more likely, Fingolfin.  
“Why? Because it happened in their house?”  
"No, Gwathren, that's another matter", replied Nathron. “Just think: at that time Finwë left his throne and his crown to Fingolfin. If the victim appealed to Finwë, and not to Fingolfin, it means that the perpetrator was either Fingolfin himself, or one whom Fingolfin knowingly could not punish or would not to, that is, someone who was too precious to him or was his equal: his own brother”.  
"Nath, I certainly do not want to say that I knew Fingolfin well and do not defend him," Gwathren began, "but it seems to me that if it were Fëanor or Maedhros, for example, Fingolfin would not do anything either, because then others might think that he came with such an outrageous allegation because of a personal hatred”.  
"Yes, you are right," agreed Nathron. "Fingolfin, I think, has always wanted not only to be impartial, but to appear impartial - Mairon should have learned from him”.  
Gwathren wanted to say something, but did not.  
"I'm afraid that your deception will not last long," he finally said.  
“Why is this?” Said Nathron. "After all, Andvir will pretend to be a Noldo from Fingolfin's retinue only before Mairon. For all the others he will be Andvir. And Mairon, I think, will not question him so thoroughly. In addition, if he does not remember something, it can always be attributed to mental illness. The boy's fit of insanity during the Helkaraxë crossing was remembered by many Noldor. Moreover, it, by the way, proves Fingolfin's guilt. It is possible that during the march poor Aldamir somehow guessed that it was Fingolfin who was the rapist, and therefore in a fit of insanity he tried to kill him.  
"No, Nath, unfortunately, it does not prove anything," Gwathren shook his head. "I think Fingolfin could be hated simply because he chose this nightmarish trail for his subjects. In addition, Aldamir could blame Fingolfin for his troubles because he did not punish the rapist in time, although he, as the king, should have done it”.  
"Yes," sighed Nathron, "it's clear that nothing is clear. It could be Finwë himself, by the way. Yes, do not look at me like that: Finwë was lonely, Míriel, his first wife passed away, the second wife, Indis, by that time had left him. Did Mairon tell you that he told the Caranthir before he struck Finwë? If Fëanor really gave himself up to his father, why could Finwë not want more? Why not to pay attention to his grandchildren and their friends? Mairon was right when he said that the rapist was, most likely, an adult, married Noldo, since he said that the women did not satisfy him. That is, if you take Finwë's house, it's Finwë himself, Fëanor, Fingolfin, Finarfin, Turgon and Curufin, perhaps Maglor. Moreover, if it was Finwë himself, one of the Elves he dragged into bed could kill him”.  
"I'm sorry, Nathron," Gwathren remarked, "but in fact his words -"the woman did not give me what I'm taking here" - can be interpreted in the opposite sense, in the grossest and most direct sense - he really could not get himself a woman, - any woman. I mean, he did not I found a woman who wanted to become his bride and wife. Well, take, for example, Celegorm: you must have heard that he was going to marry Aredhel, but never did. Okay, let's go, I do not want to leave this stranger for a long time in the laboratory. We should still make him confess who he is. And you prepared him well”.  
"It's nice to hear from you," replied Nathron, "it's you who are preparing spies for us to-"  
"Shut up," Gwathren said grimly, "I do not want to think about it. By the way, you and Penlod indeed have a very good memory, if you remember such trifles – like this curtain string. Or did you make it up for credibility’s sake?”  
"What's about the string?"  
"I mean the string which is either Amrod, or Amras supposedly plaited into Fingon's hair at this ill-fated party," Gwathren remembered.  
"You know, I did not say anything like this to him," Nathron said in bewilderment. “Probably, he invented it himself…”.  
"No, Nathron," answered Gwathren. “It's sounds too very similar to the truth. Why to invent such a thing? He had to understand that Mairon could check this detail by questioning someone else. I think the point is that he himself was there. We know that your fake Aldamir – the one whose soul inhabits Andvir’s body - is in fact a Noldo. He was on the holiday where the rapist was present, and therefore it was very easy for him to play Aldamir’s role. Moreover, it may well be that he himself is the rapist”.  
***  
When they got to the lab, Sauron's assistants found that the exhausted elf-Andvir slept tight, sitting on a chair and laying his head on one of the display glasses; all that he was trough in the last few hours was a test, especially for a human body.  
Sauron had already returned to the laboratory and was sitting at the table.  
"Well, Nathron," he said to his assistant. "While he is asleep, take him to the cell number sixteen. I would like to investigate him more. Especially with the collar. As regards Men, the collars almost do not work, but what will happen to the person in whom the elven fëa is enclosed? In my opinion, there are interesting opportunities... And then take away his body from here, that is, Aldamir’s body. Just in case”.  
“Where?” Nathron asked.  
“Far away. Below, near the room with Valarin signs there are several chambers. It's cold enough there”.  
The bodies under the display windows were enclosed in separate boxes made of light metal plates, covered by a lid of especially durable glass, so they were easy to carry even down the narrow staircase. Nathron tried to pick up the box alone and bring it in one of the underground chambers, but he could not.  
"The body is too long," Nathron said. "You'll have to come up on the other side and help me. How tall he was, the poor boy”.   
The first-born elf sighed.  
"Yes." Gwathren looked once more at the real body of Aldamir. “Very tall. So, Aldamir, Penlod...”  
"And Aracáno," said Nathron. “That's it! Aracáno said in his sleep, "Daddy, I'm sorry, I've told everything." We know that he was one of the last persons to visit Finwë in Formenos. Probably he told Finwë about the rapist, - the one who was very fond of tall boys. Or”, said Nathron," he picked up lovers according his own height".  
"Nath, I hope you do not mean... Turgon ...?"  
"I do," replied Nathron.  
"But Penlod loves Turgon madly," Gwathren said. “A Quendi could hardly fall in love with someone who tried to rape him...”  
"You're right," replied Nathron. “But I still do not exclude it. Moreover, there is another opportunity - he picked up young men, similar to Turgon, whom he could not or did not dare to get laid. I think, this too may point to Fingolfin. And even to Fingon, who, as we know, never was not too interested in women”.  
***  
"Well, Gwathren," Mairon told his assistant when they were alone, "I still wanted to get an answer to my questions: how, by whom and why Finwë was killed. I think we got the answer to the third question today”.  
"I do not believe it, Mairon," he replied. After two exhausting journeys down into the dungeon, his golden hair got unbraided and were wet; wincing, he lifted his heavy locks and, leaning back in his chair, combed them, disapprovingly tapping his high heel on the floor. “I do not believe it. Maybe this Aldamir was crazy and it all happened in his sick imagination”.  
“Why? Our Master was given complete freedom of action in Valinor, and we already have every reason to suspect that he was acting, and not just carried gossip from the house of Fëanor to the house of Fingolfin and vice versa. The house on Tol Eressea, the closed cellar, the Noldor, actually half-Vanyar princes – the Vanyar, Valar’s darlings...” Mairon shrugged. "Uncle Fingolfin, Uncle Finarfin, or perhaps even uncle Ingwë... I wonder, Gwathren, if someone uses this cellar now”.


	33. The Ghosts of Doriath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On their way to Havens of Sirion, Maedhros and his brothers meet someone whom they long believed to be dead...  
> So does Nathron :)

_A few years later_  
Maedhros handed over a letter signed by King Gil-Galad with a large dark blue wax seal: the letter contained a special permission to reside in his dominion and was addressed to the head of the gate guard of Sirion. Círdan - the lord of the coastal Falas, - placed another seal, a silvery purple one, on the document.  
“I am sorry,” Egalmoth said in a cold and unfriendly voice. He took the letter with his left hand and clasped the hilt of his curved sword with his right. “You lost three of your brothers at once...”  
Maitimo nodded silently. It was difficult to object. In a young woman in a red coat, no one recognized Caranthir - she wore women's clothes and since she stopped taking medicines, her forms somewhat changed. Celegorm was alive, but remained in the hands of Morgoth, and, of course, was lost to them. And Curufin...  
Maedhros looked around. Curufin could be with them. Actually, he was with them, although Egalmoth did not recognize him immediately. However…  
... maybe they should not on their way ride past Doriath, after all.

***  
_Two weeks before, in a forest near the ruins of Doriath_  
“I told you that this was crazy,” Maedhros said through clenched teeth. Four arrows were aimed at him; he could consider it rather flattering for himself. Looking around, he noticed that all the others had only one opponent, and apparently, no one had taken Caranthir into account.  
Maedros himself knew that they could easily have killed a small detachment of the last Doriathrim who had stopped them, but he did not want to do that at all.  
“Let us pass,” he said. “We have a business with our nephew Gil-Galad in Sirion.”  
“We know your business”, replied a young Sinda in a high, stifled voice, restraining his rage. “Now the daughter of our king is there, in Sirion, and your damned stone is also there. You are going to rob and kill again”.  
The last months they spent visiting Caranthir in her fortress on Amon Ereb (they all felt that they were only guests). The trip to Sirion inspired serious concerns. The shortest way from Amon Ereb to the sea - along the hills and mountains of Andram - was, as Caranthir found out, very hazardous. The valley between the mountains and the river Aros was a den of thieves - Easterlings and other human scum. From the south, through the Forest-betwteen-the-rivers, Taur-im-Duinath, there was not a single roadway, and it was rumoured that it was swarming with all kinds of terrible creatures. Therefore, the sons of Fëanor decided to turn north and drive through the Forest Region: although the Veil of Melian was long gone and Doriath fell (not without their participation), the Doriath forest could still be considered relatively, albeit slightly, safer. Maedhros agreed to this option, because he secretly hoped to see Turgon again, but now he thought he was acting silly.  
"I belong to the house of Fingolfin," Aracáno said loudly and rode ahead. Men and elves withdrew - he looked so impressive: the only one Elf who could match the height of the late King Thingol. “I give you the word of a prince from the house of Fingolfin that my nephew Gil-Galad will not suffer and that no harm will be caused to his subjects.”  
The blond warrior lowered his bow and silently made a gesture, inviting them to ride on.  
“No one knows whom you will meet there!” He exclaimed. “The dome of Menogroth is blackened by fire, and there are ghosts and monsters. Let your road be as you deserve”.  
“At least you are much fewer now,” said another archer.  
"You are all the same servants of Morgoth Bauglir as your brother is" a tall Edain woman shouted. “Celegorm the Fair has long been called Celegorm the Dark!”  
"We parted with him as soon as we found out _whom_ he was serving," Maedhros answered loudly. “And this was long ago for you, woman, and for many years we have not been aware that anything was wrong with him”.  
“I saw him coming to Brethil to kill the surviving friends of Turin Turambar, in the year Turin died!” the woman said. “That time my father Dorlas and my elder brother were slain. I remember well the white-haired Elf in black armour!”.  
Maitimo wanted to object, but the words stuck in his throat. As far as he knew, the unfortunate Turin, who was so obsessed with his hatred of Morgoth, died six or seven years before the attack on Doriath.  
If Celegorm really killed the friends of Turin in Brethil in the year when Turin died, then it was not because of despair, not because of the injury, that he had received in Doriath that he became a servant of Morgoth in exchange for healing. They could only guess about the true reason now.  
Maedhros recalled Celegorm’s strange words when Maeglin took him away:  
“ _You can love someone - just love and nothing else. You do not long for them, you do not pine for them, you just love and wish them best. Wish for their happiness. Wish that there were no evil in the life of your loved one_ ”.  
“At least, it was not Morgoth that he loved! Or...” Maedhros said to himself.

Looking after them, the woman pulled the eldest of the archers by the sleeve.  
"We let them go: so at least warn them to stay away from these accursed elves: it's no good for them to meet".  
“Sure,” he said, and made a sign to his subordinate; the young Elf dived into the brushwood.  
***  
A shadow passed over Maitimo’s head; he bent down briskly, turning around: a big bird flew over Maglor's head, and then flew along very close to Amrod and Finduilas, almost clinging to the mane of their horse. Then he had time to see it: the bird looked like a crow, but somewhat larger, with a metallic silver beak and whitish eyes, as if made from molten metal.  
“What is it?” - asked Aracáno.  
“This is ... this is a _craban_ , a bird from the domains of Morgoth,” Finduilas said. “There are a lot of them around Angband. All the while, they were sitting on my window. Sindar say that although Melkor has lost the ability to change appearance, he can not turn only into an Elf or a Man, but nevertheless he may be able to become one of the crebain”.  
“Just a bird,” said Maitimo, but there was no confidence in his voice.

They rode along the shore of Esgalduin; Maitimo did not want to look at the devastated citadel of Thingol. Only out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a grey-brown jumble of burnt stones, black hollows of the passageways, bright, too bright green spots of mould and moss.  
Someone pulled his shoulder, almost forcefully turning him in the direction of the bridge.  
“What is it?” - asked Carantir anxiously, pointing to a fallen column at the entrance to Menegroth. “Do you see?!”  
Maitimo covered his eyes with his hand and squinted. He saw that someone was sitting on a stone, hugging himself, with his head buried in his knees; for a moment his mind coldly remarked that, judging by the cut of his boots, his hair and hands, he was an Elf, not a man; then everything in him exploded in a flash of impossible hope. He no longer realised what he was doing; he jumped off his horse and ran along the destroyed bridge, where in the middle between the two stone pillars lay a thick wooden beam, covered with green and white moss.  
“No! It’s impossible! Don't, Maitimo, wait, please!” - Caranthir first recoiled, and then rushed for her elder brother. Amrod grabbed him by the shoulders, hugged him, saying softly:  
“Do not shout at him, he may fall!”  
Maitimo was on the other side of the river; he froze, looking at the hands of the one sitting on the rock. He wanted to keep for a few more seconds an impossible illusion that he wanted so much to see…  
Then Maitimo came up and took the man by the shoulders.  
He looked up, recognizing: Maitimo embraced him and barely suppressed a scream. The others, from the other shore, could not see it, but now he was looking into the only eye of his younger brother.  
Curufin’s right eye was torn out; even a part of his eye socket was absent.  
Looking from afar, Maitimo wanted at least for a moment to believe that it was his father, but such a sight would be impossible to bear.  
“What happened to you?” Asked Maitimo, taking his hand. “Where have you been? Did you... were you hurt?.. Did you stay here all this time?”  
“I ... I don't remember,” Curufin answered. “I do not remember. I fell into the river... it seems... I did not know how to get out of here. I do not remember”.  
Despite the heat, he was wearing the same embroidered coat, which he wore on that terrible winter day in Doriath, but dirty, torn, smelling foul; boots and pants changed. The boots turned out to be different too, one - yellow, the other - dark green.  
“Do you remember me?”  
“Yes... probably I do... yes ..." Curufin's lips quivered. “I ... you're a relative of mine, right? I remember you…”  
Maitimo glanced at the black abyss of Menegroth, where a huge collapsed copper lamp gleamed dimly. There was nothing to see further, but he felt uneasy. Without saying a word, he pulled Curufin behind him and with almost one movement dragged him across the shaky bridge.  
Everyone looked at Curufin with perplexity. Maglor rushed to them first; he put his hand on Curufin’s head, with his other hand he started, like a blind man, feeling his face: he recognized a birthmark, a minor, healed cut on his ear, a small, barely noticeable hollow scar on his left eyebrow. Once baby Curufin climbed out of the kitchen window, clutching two patties, and hit his head...  
Celebrimbor also came up, and, not daring to push Maglor away, took his father by the hand.  
“Father... do you have a headache? You need to change clothes... wash yourself... Let's stop here, Uncle Maitimo?” Celebrimbor inquired.  
“It's dangerous here,” said Maglor.  
Amrod looked back.  
“I'm afraid we have no other way. At least here is an open place”... - he looked at Celebrimbor with hostility.  
Celebrimbor boiled some water, forced his father to wash himself, changed his clothes, combed his hair, and even found somewhere a beautiful dark fabric from which it was possible to make a bandage for his blind eye. Something about it was strange and pitiful. No one helped them except Maglor. Although outwardly Maglor did not show his feelings at all, Maedhros understood that Maglor did not do it out of love for his brother: he was afraid of Curufin, he was afraid that they could be in danger and would be with Сurufin to protect the others.  
They all sat aside, as if it was none of their business, numb and unable to believe in what was happening. Finduilas, as a woman, felt uncomfortable to look at all this: she put a shawl over her head, turned away and took her embroidery. Caranthir somehow belatedly realized that she – now as a woman - was supposed to do the same, and pointedly turned in the same direction as Finduilas; Caranthir got a book out of his saddlebag and started reading, standing next to his horse.  
“How moving,” said Amrod. “Do you believe that this is Curvo? Macalaurë was ready to tear my Finduilas in shreds, and now he is cooing over Atarincë's dead body”.  
“Stop it, please,” said Nariëndil. “Macalaurë is now...”  
"Maitimo." Amrod did not pay any attention to his words. "Do you yourself believe that? You remember how Sauron said something like " _you have not seen my dolls yet_ ". I believe that it’s only our brother’s body, and nothing more…”  
“Maybe you ask him about something?” Finduilas said. “About something that happened in Valinor. How to find your house in Tirion, or...”  
“You could ask him about Nargothrond, dear” said Amrod. “After all, Curufin and Celegorm lived in Nargothrond, the kingdom of your father, and you probably know something that the real Curufin should know and I and Maitimo know not”.  
Finduilas shook her head.  
“I knew little of him... That is, in my opinion, it’s him, but... And I do not really want to talk to him.” - She looked around. “Sorry,” Finduilas addressed Amrod and Maedros, “but I really dislike Curufin. I do not know how to say… it may sound irrational. It's just that if he is Curufin, I don’t want to help him, so that you could trust him again and love him. And if it’s someone else in his body, I mean, if it’s the soul of someone else, then this other person, most likely, did nothing wrong to me, and I do not want to help expose him”.  
"Did Curufin ill-treat your father?" said Maedhros cautiously.  
“When Uncle Finrod left Nargothrond, we had to obey Curufin. Because... Curufin frightened my father into submission”.  
"They say that he and Celegorm have intimidated all residents of Nargothrond," said Amrod.  
“No, it's not just that... Curufin had something…” Finduilas began to speak even more softly, moving closer to Maitimo and took him by the sleeve, “with which he forced my father to obey him. He did not dare to show this to Finrod, but with Finrod gone, my father had to do everything that Curufin was saying...”  
“Show Finrod what?” asked Amrod, shocked.  
“I think it was some kind of paper. A note or a letter. It was closed into a leather envelope. Curufin showed it to my father only once, and I did not see it. When the people of Nargothrond rebelled and wanted to kill Celegorm and Curufin, Curufin reminded my father about this thing and said that if my father or someone else from his house killed him or Celegorm, it would be sent to the king of Noldor, Fingon, and Fingon would have to make it public”.  
“How can you be afraid of a letter?” - said Amrod.

Maedhros hesitated. He looked at his finger and at the broken scarlet ring of Fingon, looking at neither Finduilas - nor Curufin, who approached them with uncertain steps.  
He remembered what Penlod told him at the last meeting.  
_“Curufin’s wife was Earwen’s personal maid”._  
“What was her name?”  
“Luinnetti”.  
When was Curufin last seeing his wife?  
Where's she?  
Could Luinnetti get a document compromising Finrod or Orodreth for her husband in Finarfin's house? When and why did she do it? Maitimo didn’t feel much love for Finarfin’s children (he believed that not only Carantir was to blame for the ugly quarrel between them and Fëanor’s sons), but he was not at ease when he thought about the obvious. If something indeed happened in Valinor, in the house of Finarfin, it was very likely that this event affected not only Orodreth (who was not yet married), but all Third royal House of Noldor.  
“What will you do?” Amrod whispered.  
“Now Celegorm is not with us,” Maedhros said through clenched teeth. “He lived with Atarincë for almost all the time we spent in Middle-earth. They were always so close. He would know what to ask him - how to check. To ask him about Orodreth or about the streets of Tirion is not enough. In general, it seems to me that this is not a coincidence that he appeared only after Celegorm was taken from us”.  
Maedhros rose to meet Curufin and said:  
“I am happy that I was able to hug my younger brother again. However, I cannot be sure that the one I'm talking to now is Curufinwë. Let everyone forgive me for my mistrust…" Maitimo looked around. “…but I'm going to ask you some questions.”  
He already considered the questions, sitting next to Amrod. Only the one who was a son of Fëanor and grew up in Valinor could respond to all of them. Curufin almost never faltered; but still Maedhros saw Maglor growing gloomier, and disbelief never left Amrod's face.  
Gradually, he got to the questions that he considered key ones: about their childhood bedroom and about sailing from Valinor to Middle-earth on the Teleri ships. The questions about the house of Fëanor Curufin could answer. But when it came to the journey, he started to hesitate and answered not very confidently: he could tell more or less exactly how many ships crashed and remembered almost all the names of those who commanded them - of course, for so many years he could forget some. However, at the same time, Curufin remembered absolutely nothing about the horrible and incomprehensible quarrel between Amrod and Amras, after which Amrod asked Maedros to let him in sleep for several days next to him on the bare floor of his older brother’s cabin.  
Maedhros noticed Celebrimbor's frightened stare and asked him:  
“Celebrimbor, what do you think: is he your father?”  
“Yes,” he answered noiselessly. «Me too... I did not believe at first, either. I also asked him about several events from my childhood, about the house, about my mother... no one but he could know this”.  
“Forgive me, child, for asking you about this”, Maedhros embraced his nephew by the shoulders and took him aside. “Where is your mother?”  
"She died at Alqualondë," Celebrimbor replied, almost whispering. “I lived with her there. Right near the harbour. With my uncle and aunt. Father saw their bodies in the water... and on the embankment. He did not know how to tell me. I asked Uncle Celegorm. He told me later. My father and I never talked about this”.  
Maitimo turned to the troop; it was getting dark. Everyone looked expectantly at the eldest son of Fëanor.  
With a familiar gesture, Curufin ran a finger along his brow, shrugged, and then shrank all over: there was no ordinary fire in his solitary eye; he looked sad and somehow doomed.  
Maitimo asked him in a very low voice, so that only he and Curufin could hear it:  
“What was in my locker in our workshop in Formenos?”  
It seemed to him that relief flashed in Curufin’s face. The younger brother listed the number of shelves, the things that lay on them, not forgetting even a red cloth trimmed with thick gold thread and a broken forceps.  
Maitimo turned away and went to his horse; he waved his hand at Nariëndil, saying:  
“Come on, put up a tent – we stay here tonight”.  
“Uncle Maitimo ...” Celebrimbor turned to him. “Does it mean you allow my father to stay?”  
"For the sake of my sanity, I prefer to think that he is your father," said Maitimo.  
***  
Nathron sighed with relief: everything was going, as it should. He got out from the rubble in the depths of the corridor, from where he saw the meeting of Maedhros and Curufin well, and then slipped out of the entrance to Menegroth. Hooking the rope by a tree, which grew slightly to the side, over the river, he went down, made his way along the shallow course of Esgalduin and went into the woods. In his hands, he still had a cage - a large cage made of steel rods, round, covered with dark cloth. Carrying it with him was not very convenient, but Sauron handed him this cage and a bird, and Nathron obediently put a bird in it.  
Natron noticed how Gwathren had turned pale when Sauron pulled out a cage. It was obvious that this object causes him at least disgust. "Why is that"? – Nathron silently wondered. Perhaps, it is better to leave the cage here? Or throw it away? After all, he was not going carry back the bird...  
“Stop,” he heard suddenly. The cage fell out of his hands. A heavy arrow with a serrated blade was aimed at Natron’s throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the cage being picked up with the tip of a spear.  
“Stupid fool”, he thought with irritation. “I’ ve got sentimental here - trying not to upset Gwathren. Rather, I had to run for my life..."  
“What are you doing here? Whom are you catching? Either you are a servant of Morgoth, or an accomplice of the sons of Fëanor”, said a young voice.  
Natron looked up. For a moment, it seemed to him that before him was the ghost of the king of Doriath: long silver hair, unusually tall shape... No, of course it was not Thingol. Moreover, there were two of them: next to a blond elf stood another one — almost as tall, but dark-haired and light-eyed. Well known to Nathron, the sword of Thingol, Aranruth, with a handle adorned with rubies, hung on the belt of the second youth. Both boys had thin copper hoops on their heads: their copper branches were adorned with dark, reddish ambers, similar to the rubicund berries of a snowball tree. Despite the fact that they were so extremely tall and strong, they looked indeed very young, and Natron thought almost with fear: what if they grow up more?..  
"What's wrong, guys?" asked Natron casually. “What does Fëanor have to do with it? Do I look like a Noldo? I am an Avari, and I was just standing there watching some riders, just in case they may drop anything of value. Also I came to the forest to catch birds: Easterlings may give good money for a craban”.  
“You've got a long way,” said the young man with silver curls.  
“So if this is your land, then forgive me, then I'm on the road and back to the forest,” Nathron shrugged. He dared to reach with his hand and take a cage by the heavy ring from above, still smiling naively at the young elves.  
“It’s useless”. A dark-haired young man pulled the first one by the sleeve. “Now we have to kill him”.  
“I do not know…”  
They looked at each other and said almost simultaneously, - mournfully and so childishly, that Nathron almost laughed:  
"Maybe we should ask Mom".  
"Ask her, of course, Mom knows best", said Nathron. “I believe, you must be Doriatrim. I had am impression that there was already no one there”...  
“We are there because we are the kings of Doriath,” the dark-haired elf with the sword answered solemnly. “I am Elurin, the son of Dior, and this is my brother Elured.”


End file.
